Perchance to Dream
by DreamerKate
Summary: Loki, bored in the dungeons of Asgard, finds a source of entertainment while meditating one day: the dreams of his first Midgardian minion. Clint wonders if he's going crazy when dream-Loki lets on that maybe he didn't want to conquer Earth at all. Is the Trickster lying to get Barton to lower his defenses, or does Loki just want someone to talk to? NO SLASH. Eventual whump.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So here we go folks! Clint, Loki, and the whole gang are involved in this adventure, though I suppose most of the story revolves around the two characters. Don't worry though! There will be science bros stuff and Clintasha stuff (not a lot, I think) and lovable ol' Steve and big, beautiful Thor to keep us going!

No slash, but bromances of epic proportions, me thinks.

This fic is T rated, mostly for coarse language (a little bit of blood and gore too). What can I say, Clint likes to swear. Later reasonable whump (ie: not whump for whump's sake, and not _overly _done) on Loki or Clint or both. If you think it needs to be moved up a rating, then please tell me. I don't wanna get in trouble! :'(

But without further Ado (or is it Adieu? whatever), let's get this road on the show! ;)

...

Clint sighed as he stared up into the blackness of his ceiling of his room in Stark Tower. It had been only been a couple of weeks since the attack on Manhattan, only a couple of weeks since he had killed his fellow agents under Loki's thrall. Sleep had been elusive to the archer since then, every time he closed his eyes, the pained and confused faces of those he killed would tattoo themselves to his eyelids.Even now, he could remember the feeling of empty coldness—of helpless detachment—when he would loose an arrow only for it to lodge itself into another person's chest.

When he did get sleep, there were the nightmares. Sometimes they would be memories, sometimes they would evolve. Maybe this time he killed Natasha, maybe Stark. More than once he saw himself driving an arrow through Coulson's throat.

Sighing again, Barton rolled over and grabbed a bottle of pills from his nightstand. He didn't like drugs. They took him off his game, inhibited his senses which were so important to his job. But so was sleep. If he didn't get rest, he could make a horrible mistake the next time he was in battle. One that cost him his life, or worse: somebody else's. And he would not allow himself to kill another one of his friends.

Swallowing the sleeping aids, he lay back down and tried to clear his mind. Didn't kids count sheep? Maybe he'd try that.

One dumb sheep over the fence, two dumb sheep, three, four…. When he got to 325, his lids finally shut, and sleep mercifully took him.

...

_He was on the Helicarrier again. He was in the room that held the containment cell for the Hulk. Where they had held Loki for his brief stint aboard. Once again, Clint felt the chill of detachment wash over him as he unleashed his bow from his back and readied an arrow. _

_The cell was empty, and just as Barton was about to leave the room to look for somebody, anybody who was in the way of his goal, Coulson walked in. _

_He looked how he always did: trim suit; well combed, if thinning, hair; calculating, yet warm, features. Barton didn't hesitate. He loosed the arrow and it found its mark, like it always did, right in the handler's heart. A flash of confusion and betrayal flashed across the dying man's face as he sank to the floor. As Hawkeye was about to step over him to continue on his way, a smooth cultured voice intoned from behind him._

_"Well, that's certainly not how I remember it."_

_Like oxygen to a drowning man, Clint could feel again, and he cried out in anguish as he sank to the floor and pulled the arrow out of his dead mentor and friend, not caring for whomever it was that spoke behind him. _

_"Come now…" the voice droned in irritation, "Surely you will not weep for something you did not do? That seems rather ridiculous, don't you agree?"_

_Anger now surged in the archer, and he spun around to find Loki standing in the middle of the cell, hands behind his back, and a small smirk on his face. _

_"YOU!" Clint growled, and he charged the clear glass, banging his fists against it, only to be rewarded with a dull thud. _

_"Yes, me. My, but you are perceptive," the god rolled his eyes._

_"I'm going to kill you." Barton went to the control panel to open the cell, but every code he entered read as an error, and nothing would work to give him access to his prey. _

_"Unlikely," Loki drawled. "Hm, but are you not curious as to why I am here at all?" he asked raising an eyebrow. _

_The archer howled with anger, "What do you mean?! This was _your_ fucking plan! But I got my head back, so now instead of letting you go, I'm going to shove an arrow through your damn eye!"_

_"Don't be an idiot!" Loki snapped, "You are dreaming, you fool! Look around you! Where is your beloved Coulson?"_

_Dreaming? Anger and confusion fought for dominance as he looked to the corner where he had only moments ago plunged an arrow deep into Coulson's chest. Nothing. No body, no blood. _

_Then suddenly he remembered. Remembered everything. New York, Coulson, Loki's capture._

_A dream?... And Loki was in it. And _he_ knew it was a dream. _What?

_He shook his head as if to clear it. "How are you here?! Are you in my head again?"_

_Loki chuckled, his frustration from earlier seemingly gone, "I knew you were a smart one when I took you under my wing. But no, I am not 'in your head' in the manner that you are speaking. The last time was…unfortunate. Unnecessary. Crude." Loki seemed to be getting angrier as he paced around his small room. _

_Putting his own rage towards the god on the back burner, Clint interrupted Loki's ramblings, "Wait, wait." Clint's mind raced to understand everything. He was actually still stuck on the whole dream thing, but he'd deal with that later. "Aren't you supposed to be in Asgard? Getting spanked by your dad or something?"_

_Loki froze in his pacing and sent a cold glare at the archer, "He is _not_ my father" then he took a breath and continued, "but yes. I am currently in the dungeons of Asgard, awaiting my trial."_

_Clint rubbed the back of his neck, "Then what the fuck is this about?"_

_Loki paused and grinned, "Indeed. You took the words directly from my mouth. And they say _I_ have the silver tongue."_

_"So, you didn't just magic yourself into my head?" Clint asked frustrated. _

_Loki raised an eyebrow, "Really? You think they'd let me just stroll around here with my magic available? I still have those damnable shackles on me which block my magic. And with that degrading muzzle, I can't even ply my defense!" Loki clenched his fists. _

_Clint huffed apathetically. "Good. You deserve what you're getting."_

_Loki charged the glass in front of Barton, coming face to face with him. His face was red, and his features contorted, "You know _nothing_ of what I deserve!" Slowly he calmed, but a sneer remained on his sophisticated features. "Leastways not what I deserve from the 'All-But-One' Father."_

_"Yeah, whatever. I don't give a shit about your family issues, just tell me how you're in my head so I can get rid of you."_

_Loki took a deep breath and smoothed out unseen wrinkles on his much more simple black and green leather armor. His features transformed back into nonchalance. "You'd be surprised how boring it is to simply wait in a small chamber with no magic, no speech, nothing. So I meditate. And lo and behold, here I am: In my first, most loyal, minion's conscience." He sent a condescending smirk to Barton, then glanced away back into thought. "Tell me this: is that curséd scepter still on Midgard?"_

_Cursed? He took that thing everywhere when he was on Earth, and now suddenly he didn't like it? "Like I'd tell where your favorite play toy is."_

_Apparently the god liked to roll his eyes. "That's a yes. Do remember, you _are_ talking to a god." Loki smiled mockingly at the archer, who flipped him off. "Oh how I missed you, my dear Barton," he replied with a chuckle, then schooled his features into thought as he began to pace, his hand to his mouth in concentration. _

_Barton sat down against the wall, examining his arrows, wondering when he was going to wake up. Maybe he could use an explosive one to get at the God of Mischief and Assholery, and proceed to beat the ever-living shit out of him. Though the cell was probably just as resistant to damage as the real life one, and the archer would most likely just blow himself up, killing himself in his own dream. Loki'd laugh at that. Asshole. _

_ As he tested the sharpness of an arrow, he realized that Loki had actually never been in any of his nightmares. Barton wondered at this. You'd think the guy who caused you to kill your friends would've been an obvious choice for nightmare fuel. Clint was furious at the god, angered beyond all reason at him, but he wasn't afraid of him. _

_"The Tesseract is on Asgard," Loki finally began, stopping in the middle of the compartment, his fore finger rubbing the nail of his thumb in concentration, "and the spear, which contains part of the Tesseract is on Midgard. There's our connection, Barton. A little obvious, I should think. Must be your conscious which dulls my mind." He sent the archer an egotistical smirk. _

_Barton glared at him, "So what? You're telling me that the Tesseract and your spear are connecting us or something?"_

_"I'm glad you cleared that up for us," Loki drawled sarcastically. "I was so confused before."_

_"Fuck you" Clint replied. _

_"I must say though," the god sat down on the small bench in the back of the cell, "this is much more entertaining than my small little dungeon in Asgard."_

_"Yeah, I bet you were beginning to miss the sound of your own voice" Clint retorted._

_"You have no idea." Loki began glancing around the room, which was slowly becoming filled with a fog, "Ah, but I see our little visit is nearing its end. This was fun, wasn't it? Same time tomorrow, then?"_

_"Go fuck your—"_

_..._

Clint slowly opened his eyes, the bright sun warming his face. Grabbing his cell phone, he saw that it was 9:15 am. That was the most sleep he'd gotten since the attack. Sleeping pills were apparently a good choice for his body, but maybe not for his mind. What the hell was Loki doing in his head again?

Time to see where that spear was, and if he could break it.

...

**A/N:** You like? You don't have to. I can't control you! (or maybe I can get Loki's scepter and control all of you and _make _you like it... mwahahahaha! *ahem*

**Fun Fact:** How many Loki clones does it take to screw in a light bulb?

Answer: None. He would not lower himself to perform such a menial and degrading task. Besides, who needs a light bulb when you have magic!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** You like me! You really like me! So, awesome response to first chapter! It made me giggle and blush and get all warm and fuzzy inside.

In case you didn't figure out, italics are dreams, thoughts, and flashbacks. You should be able to decipher which one is which based on context. Oh and emphasized words, but that's like any other piece of literature.

Let's see… a little blood and gore in this one. So, warning I guess.

Oh, and I didn't do this in the last chapter, but I suppose I should since it seems to be the popular thing around here: I do not own the Avengers. (I did buy the blue ray, so in a sense I do…)

* * *

Thor loved his brother. There was nothing Loki could do or say to negate that. It hurt Thor to battle his brother, to fight against him, to see him injured in Stark's tower only to apprehend him.

Strangely Loki had become rather silent and seemingly contemplative after being detained. He still looked at Thor with some bitterness, but it was not the pure, manic rage he'd seen before. The trickster's gaze seemed more searching or intense. Different. Perhaps it was just the close proximity. Maybe Loki had learned something in the end after all.

Then they had put the manacles on Loki. Thor shuddered at the memory. His brother had not known the effects of the restraints until they were clasped on him. It was as if all his strength had been sapped as he sank to his knees and clasped at his chest. Thor had wanted to support him, to help him, but Loki needed to take responsibility for his actions. He had stepped too far to simply be forgiven. Thor had given his brother many chances to turn back, and he had rejected all of them.

After he had delivered Loki to Asgard, complete with muzzle, Odin had advised for Thor to return to Midgard. The city of New York needed rebuilding, and it seemed that the populace was unsure in its feelings towards its heroes. An Asgardian had nearly destroyed the city and had taken many lives. It would be wise for an Asgardian to placate the humans in a show of peace. Thor was to be an ambassador of sorts.

He sighed as he sat at Stark's counter thinking that if Loki were in his right mind, he'd be much better suited for this role.

"You look miserable," a voice intoned to his right. Clint Barton, still in his night clothes, shuffled out into the kitchen/living room area. Going behind the counter, he opened a cabinet, grabbed a box of cereal, and sat down opposite of Thor, eating handfuls of the dry morsels of some Captain of Crunch.

"Indeed, I do feel it." It had been two weeks since his brother's incarceration, and for those two weeks Thor had been examining where he went wrong as a sibling. Since his own banishment to Midgard, he had learned much about himself and who he had been. It was only since then that he could see his failings. Loki had been under-appreciated and ill-treated growing up in Asgard, and Thor wished he could go back to his younger self and admonish him for being pig-headed and arrogant. But no matter how badly Loki had been treated, it did not justify what he did.

Barton sat there, staring at the grey, slate counter, crunching loudly on his breakfast. Thor saw that the deep, dark circles that had been under his eyes since the attack were not so apparent this morning.

"You on the other hand, my friend, do not look as miserable as you once did" the thunder god declared with a smile.

Clint huffed a small laugh, "Thanks, I guess. Finally got some sleep." He seemed to think for a moment. Thor wondered if his previously haunted and fatigued behavior and appearance was due to Loki's interference with the archer. He, perhaps more so than anyone on the team, had been dealt the most grievous damage.

Barton slowed in his breakfast ministrations, "So what's the deal with your crazy brother? He been dealt with?"

Thor bristled a little at his slight to his brother, but conceded since it wasn't completely untrue, "He is being kept in the dungeons of Asgard. He poses no threat any longer."

"So no magic? No mind control stuff?" he asked somewhat hesitantly.

"No. He still wears the Midgardian shackles that Stark and Banner created. And the muzzle," he finished a bit disheartened.

Barton made a non-committal 'hm' and took another handful of cereal. "Do you know what happened to that staff thing of his?"

Thor frowned. "I believe your Director Fury confiscated it. I do not know if a weapon of such unknown power should be left on Midgard though."

"I knew I should have snagged that stick of his when I had the chance," came a snarky voice from behind Thor. "Well, not _his _stick. Not Fury's stick, if you know what I'm saying. Nobody should grab _that _stick. I mean the glowing one that shoots energy beams and turns people into zombies. That one." Turning, the god saw Stark walking in with ruffled hair and rumpled day clothes. He seemed tired but his eyes were bright and aware. "But I'm sure Shield knows what they're doing. It's not like they were developing nuclear weapons that utilized an uncontrollable power source, or trying to blow up the largest city in America. Perfectly reliable. Trustworthy, in fact." Stark ambled by, light on his feet, to the machine that produced coffee.

Barton huffed again, "Sounds about right. Aren't you usually comatose in your lab at this time in the morning?"

The man of iron shrugged as he fiddled with the contraption, "Pepper usually gets me coffee. Decided to show my magnanimity that comes with being a person of my awesomity by giving her today off." Stark paused in thought, "Huh, rhymed. And also, is that a word—Awesomity? It is now. Jarvis, copyright 'awesomity' and submit it to Webster's for me."

"Very well, sir" came the articulate voice of Stark's fortress, something which still amazed Thor.

Stark turned and bent to look at the face of the sitting Barton, "Hey. Something's different with you. You look less…emo. Finally took the eye-liner off? I like it. Now if we could only fix that face of yours. A hopeless case, I think."

"Why don't you go into a fight without that pansy-ass mask of yours and see how pretty you look. Oh that's right, you don't want to smudge up your makeup." Barton crunched down on more cereal.

"Nice comeback, Cupid. Original." Stark walked off with two cups of coffee in his hands towards his lab.

"I'll just tell Pepper that you're too busy with Banner to sleep with her. The hulk must be quite the _handful_." Barton slathered his voice with innuendo. Thor, as he finally got the underhanded meaning, grinned in boyish immaturity along with the archer. His friends certainly were a humorous distraction from the tragic happenings of his own life.

* * *

_"Finally" Loki groaned. _

_For a moment, Clint was confused, the haze of his dream world still muddled with lucidity. Loki once again was in the Hulk-proof cell on the Helicarrier. _

_Clenching his fists in rage as he saw the smirking god, he noticed that his hands felt sticky. Looking down, red painted his entire body—the color horrible and familiar. Blood caked him like mud, it filled his nostrils with the scent of dirty metal, and he wanted to vomit. Gazing around the room in horror, he saw that scattered about were dead bodies. Limbs, heads, and organs were spread across the room like morbid Christmas decorations. The slippery and deceiving realm of dreams was too real, and he forgot all about the trickster within the cage._

_ How could he have done it? Couldn't he have fought against Loki's control? He had been too weak. He wasn't strong enough. He wasn't strong enough! Maybe some sick part of him liked murdering his friends. Loki had claimed he had heart, but more and more he did not believe it. _

_"Barton" a smooth voice called. _

_No, no. He _had_ done this. He recognized so many faces around him. Agents Jenkins and Barker. Thompson, Beach, Louis… They were all there. Clint fell to his knees, trying to wipe the blood from his hands. But the more he wiped on his pant leg, the more blood covered him. The ruby liquid began to drip into his eyes. _

_"Agent Barton" the voice called again, this time more insistent. _

_"Go away," moaned Clint, grabbing his head. The blood was so warm, and it clung to him like syrup. He tasted the thick, coppery liquid and tried to spit it out. _I did this, I did this_. _My fault, my fault, my fault….

_"Clint." The voice was commanding but gentle. _

_Finally looking up, he saw the god kneeling at the glass, his green gaze steady on the archer. "You did _not_ do this. You were under _my_ control. Understand this." _

_Suddenly the blood and body parts were gone, and he was clean. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Clint sagged against the wall. _

_Loki stood and went to sit on his bench. Barton ran a hand through his hair, "Didn't you have blue eyes before?" He didn't want to think about what just happened. _Change the topic, move to something else_._

_Loki, surprisingly, seemed to understand this. "For a short time, I suppose. A short, regrettable time," he scowled. _

_"Right." For a person who was already asleep, Clint felt very tired. The fog filled the room once more._

* * *

Clint was in Stark's sparring and training room, shooting arrows at computer generated targets that would shatter and reform when hit. The night's previous dream occupied his thoughts as he tried to figure out the Trickster's plan. By now, Clint was pretty sure that it really _was_ Loki in his head, and not just some dream-Loki. Everything was too real for it to not be him. Too interactive and lucid. Was he trying to gain control of his head again? If so, why hadn't he done it yet? Maybe it took time. Then why did he help him with the nightmare? _That_ didn't make sense at all.

"Barton" came a familiar low but feminine voice behind him as he sent another arrow through the dead center of a target.

He paused for a moment, but then continued, "Romanoff" he acknowledged. Natasha had tried to help him through his issues after the attack. She'd often join him on the ledge of the tower when he couldn't sleep and simply sit next to him, silent but there. He had tried to make her promise that if he were compromised again, that if the blue film claimed his eyes again, that she would take him down for good. He couldn't be liability. She hadn't agreed to it, but only said that she'd watch his back better.

"I heard you've been sleeping." Her voice was straightforward and unemotional.

"Miracle, I guess," he replied as he aimed blindly at a target behind him and was rewarded with the sound of shattering ceramic. Clint didn't want to admit it, but since Loki had jumped into his dreams, he'd gotten more sleep than he had previously been getting. It's not as if the god soothed him or that Barton _preferred_ to dream of Loki. Apparently his nightmares were simply casualties of the god's own apparent search for cheap entertainment. It was sort of a mutually beneficial thing. Sort of. Clint felt a little nauseous at the idea.

"What changed?" she asked.

He wasn't going to tell her about Loki, that was for sure. _Hey Nat, guess what? Loki's in my head. Yep. We're like hanging out, but it's not like he's trying to mind control me again or anything. _That would work out well. Clint was sure he'd be happy in a nice padded room and pudding for dessert every day. So Barton shrugged, "Not sure. Just got sick of staring at my ceiling all night, I guess."

He was not _really_ lying. He did hate staring at his ceiling all night. But that's not why he slept better. He knew it and she knew it. But he knew Natasha wouldn't push. They'd known each other long enough to understand when the other needs to know something, they'll know it. They trusted each other enough to know that if one of them is lying or deflecting, it's for a good reason.

He heard her sigh through her nose. "Alright. I'm glad you're back with us, Clint." He heard her footsteps as she began to leave. With everything they'd been through, they both knew how to hide meanings in their words. It was like a secret language between them. _I'm not doing this without you. I can't._ This was the vague meaning behind her words. It may have sounded sentimental and cliché but it was the truth, and he felt the same. They were as necessary to each other as a limb on the body. Not out of love, love was something soft and breakable. What they had was something created out of pressure, time, and blood. Too much blood. It was something much more vital and integral than love.

Dropping his bow to his side, he turned, "Tasha." He said it softly, but she stopped in her path and turned her head to the side. "Thanks" _Thanks for bringing me back, for keeping me sane, for being there._

She nodded and left, and he went back to target practice.

* * *

**A/N**: There. How's that? Any good? I myself felt a little 'meh' about it. It's just a little this and that. Not much Loki. Sorry :P

Aren't Clint and Tony a couple of little hooligans? So naughty. More Tony in the next chapter. And Loki. And introducing Bruce! Steve may have to wait till the next-next chapter, though.

**Stupid Joke Time!**: What did Tony say to Thor when the god walked around Manhattan with all his Asgardian armor on?

"You stick out like a Thor thumb!" Oh my…. I am…ashamed (not).

Reviews make me feel good. But so do follows and favorites and all that jazz. Don't feel pressured though. I'll love you anyways!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Hey everybody! Thanks for all the reviews and follows and favorites and whatnot. They make me feel absolutely lovely!

Bruce and Tony are _not_ in this one. Sorry! They were, but now they aren't. They will be in the next one, I tripple dog promise! Their scene is way too light to be attached to this dramatic chapter. It just didn't fit!

Note: Each attempt is a different dream, different night. That'll make sense when you read it.

Some violence in this again.

I do not own the Avengers.

* * *

_ "How fares the dear Miss Romanoff?" Loki asked as he lay on his bench, one arm resting on his forehead. The other hand he examined, absentmindedly rubbing his thumbnail with his index finger. "Hm? I do remember our last conversation to be quite…enlightening."_

_Barton, who had nearly come to awareness as soon as he entered his dream, was pacing outside of the cell. "Do you know how much I'd like to rip your tongue out right about now?" _

_The god let out a small chuckle, "About as much as anyone else. But, for many reasons, that is quite impossible. But, come now, I'm here for much needed distraction. What about that Banner? I feel he and I… connected." Loki smirked at his own joke as he let his hands fold on his stomach. _

_"You'd think you'd ask me about Stark's floor," Clint muttered, "you seemed to be on intimate terms with it the last time I saw you." Loki rolled his eyes, a sneer gracing his features. _

_Clint wished he understood what was going on. Was Loki, the god of Trickery and Lies,-the guy who tried to take over the world—really just in his head for entertainment? What was his plan? Was he getting information that would somehow help him escape? Maybe he was secretly worming his way throughout his entire consciousness until he had full control, and then Loki in a Clint shell would try and take over Earth again. Fuck, he didn't know. _

_"Please, Barton. If you're going to try and use that brain within your brain, do try and be a little more subtle. And here I thought you were some sort of expert in the covert." Loki was looking over at him, one dark eyebrow raised. _

_"Go fuck yourself" he grumbled as he rubbed his face clear of the tension that had developed. _

_"You certainly have a fondness for that word." Loki turned his gaze to the ceiling. _

_Clint threw out his hands, "that's because this whole fucking situation is just so fucked up!"_

_"Quite" Loki replied with a smile. _

_Barton let out a frustrated growl, and sat back on his haunches, running his hands through his hair. Why was Loki doing this!? It made no sense!_

_"The way you're acting, you'd think I was torturing you." Loki seemed put out. "But where are the whips and chains? The needles and daggers? You are ever so dramatic, Barton." _

_The archer stood, and thrust his index finger at the god, "What's your play?! What's your game?"_

_Loki sighed frustrated, "If I only _had_ a game, then perhaps I wouldn't be so bored!" The god nearly whined, but then it seemed like he was talking more to himself than to Barton, "perhaps that is Odin's plan: to drive me insane with monotony. _Oh_, but that would be clever now wouldn't it?" Looking over to Clint, the god sat up and smiled a devious smile, "But he does not know I have you to keep me company! Just think: one of Midgard's so called 'mightiest heroes' at my beck and call. Maybe next time you can dream of someplace sunnier. It might _lighten_ your mood."_

_"If you're so bored, why don't you just do something about it!?" Clint snapped, "This is a dream, right? Just imagine a TV or something and leave me alone."_

_The god cast a bored look at the archer, "Must I explain everything to you?"_

_Oh, Clint really wanted to smash his face in._

_Standing, Loki began to pace slowly, languidly. "As much as I'd like to, I cannot alter anything here besides my own appearance—my own conscious. I am in _your_ mind, Barton. Use your imagination."_

_Raising an eyebrow, a decidedly evil grin pulled at his lips, "So I could imagine you getting crushed by a boulder?"_

_Loki returned his gaze, his own eyebrow lifted, "I highly doubt you could kill me, even in your own mind. Besides, I would just reappear tomorrow night, and the next and the next."_

_Fine. That was it. Barton had had enough. Loki was going to regret those words. He was going to regret everything he'd done—to him, to his teammates, to Earth. To Coulson. Clint would enjoy plunging a knife into the ego-maniac's chest. Or maybe he would just beat him to death. That might be more satisfying. But he'd save those for upcoming nights. Tonight, he would do what he'd wanted to do for over two weeks. _

_Pulling off the bow that was inexplicably over his shoulder, he notched it with an arrow from his quiver which was on his back like it had been there the whole time. Aiming slowly and deliberately, he leveled the sight directly at the god's cocky green eye. The bastard simply sat there, his expression stoic and apathetic. Barton wanted to see fear, he wanted to see hate. It would have been all too perfect if Loki would snarl with rage or grin with manic glee. Infuriated by the Trickster's lack of proper emotion, he let the arrow fly, straight and quick. It penetrated the glass like the filmy, shimmering rainbow wall of a soap bubble. _

_Clint was as taut as his bow, waiting for the liberation that would come from watching the god's head snap back, his body fall, and blood spray against the window behind. He wanted this—he needed this. It was as though someone had tied a rubber band to the inner wall of his chest, pulling back farther and farther, until it was about to snap. _

_But the hit never came. Loki had been sitting as still as a statue, an oak without a breeze, and just as the arrow head was about to pierce his grass-colored iris, he was gone. Like he was never there. _

* * *

Clint woke with a furious roar, his hands twisted in his sheets. Slamming his fists into the mattress a few times, he looked at his cell phone. _4:12 am_.

Kicking his coverings off and getting out of bed, he quickly and heatedly dressed, grabbed his bow and headed down to the training room.

Maybe he could get Jarvis to create a Loki-shaped target.

* * *

**_Attempt 1_**

_Clint was in the middle of a rainforest, the air thick with humidity, moisture sticking to his lungs like aerosol. He was pressed against a tree on the outskirts of a small clearing. _

_Loki—like a dark, archaic idol of a long forgotten civilization—stood in the midst, his head bowed and turned to the side as if listening for something, and his hands clasped behind his back. _

_Hawkeye left his post and approached, letting the dim light drifting down from the crowded canopy above fall on his form._

_"Are we _really_ doing this?" The god's voice seemed muffled in the closeness of the damp vegetation. _

_"Shut up," Clint growled, advancing on Loki, throwing a right haymaker at the god's jaw. To his frustration, the Asgardian gracefully and swiftly slid to the side, dodging the blow. Spinning just as quick, Clint threw his leg out in a low sweeping kick, which sent the Liesmith falling backwards, bracing himself with his hands and springing back to his feet. _

_"Fight me!" Barton barked as he sent an elbow into Loki's side. Twisting out of the attack, Loki backed away smoothly._

_"This is not what I meant when I asked for a diversion," the god sighed as he dodged another fist. "I suppose it is mildly amusing." _

_Snarling, Clint let his rage take over, ignored all of his Shield training, and rushed the god with abandon. As he was about to tackle Loki to the ground, he again disappeared. _

**_Attempt 2_**

_Loki was in an apartment on the 16__th__ floor of a New York City high-rise. Clint stood on the roof of the opposite building. This time, he held a sniper rifle sighting the uninterested god in his crosshairs. _

_That damned bastard may be able to dodge an arrow, but Barton wanted to see how he would dodge a bullet. It wouldn't be as satisfying as jettisoning his eyeball back into his brain, or beating face into a bloody paste, but it would get the job done. _

_As he took one last look into the scope, he saw Loki turn and look directly at him, a smug smile on his face. _

_Clint's bullet made a perfect hole in the glass, but lodged itself unhindered in the wall beyond. _

_Loki was gone._

**_Attempt 3_**

_This time the both of them were in the underground Shield base where the two first met—where Clint had been first been brain-washed by Loki. _

_The Tesseract glowed cold and bright, and Loki stood in front of it, his hands at his sides. Hawkeye stood before him, a long serrated knife in his hand. _

_"You are quite adamant about this, aren't you?" Loki asked low and serious. _

_"You surprised?" replied Clint, gripping the hilt tightly. "All I've wanted to do for past three weeks is kill you. You fucked everything up. You're a murder! An evil piece of shit that deserves to die!"_

_The god stared at the floor, a small non-smile on his face. "How true," he replied softly. "You truly do detest me, don't you? All that hate. It's all you can see, all you can taste. It fills you so completely, yet you are left utterly empty. Hollow." Raising his gaze, his emerald eyes bore into Barton's, disgust evident in his features. "You embrace your wrath and your revulsion because they are the only things that warm your freezing heart." _

_Barton grimaced in rage, "You don't know anything! Shut up!" He lunged forward, his free hand grabbing the god's shoulder, the blade plunging into his gut. Barton was surprised when he actually felt warm liquid spill over his fingers, and the god's body slump forward into him._

_A wet chuckle bubbled out from the god's lips as Barton threw him to the ground onto his back. The god smiled ruefully up at the archer, blood staining his teeth and running down his pallid cheeks. "How does it feel to kill the monster of your dreams? Do you feel satisfaction? Joy? Peace?" Loki brought a hand to his stomach, pulling it back to gaze at the deep red staining his pale skin. Another gruesome half-giggle left his lips as he rubbed his slick fingers together. "How odd. Is this what transience feels like?" _

_Clint watched with a sick pleasure, waiting for the warmth that comes with satisfaction. Loki's obsidian hair was splayed out on the concrete as he stared vacantly at his own blood-covered hand. Any minute now, Clint would smile and relax and know that he'd finally gotten what he wanted. But as the floor beneath the Trickster began to stain, a glimmering pool of spilled Claret, Barton didn't feel anything at all. His hate sat cold, and putrefied in the pit of his stomach. _

_"Strange, is it not?" Loki swallowed, "We are more similar than you care to think, Barton." With one last chuckle, the god vanished. _

_As the room filled with the dulling mist, Clint stared vacantly into the puddle on the floor, the blue of the Tesseract tinting the scarlet blood a luminous violet. _

_"Shit."_

* * *

**A/N:** So there's that. Dark? Yes, but it's a dream world. Clint needed to try and kill Loki, because what else would he do in his own head if he had the opportunity?

Also, me thinks Loki is not talking about just Clint at the end... I'm really subtle, aren't I? ;)

Next chapter is short and funny. A little pick me up after this one.

Review, my lovelies...

**Fun Fact:** Tony likes to whip his hair back and forth, whip his hair back and forth.

Wait what? *Note: Fun facts are not factual*


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I said that there would be the science bros, and the science bros there are!

Nothing dark here! Just some plot and some boys being boys.

This one is short and sweet (just like all the men in this chapter), but then again I did just post a longish chapter like two seconds ago.

Me no own Avengers. That makes me a sad panda.

* * *

"Hey Stark!" Clint called, as he pushed the doors to the lab open. Banner was sitting in front of some projection of what looked like building blueprints, and Stark sat at a desk, feet up as he tinkered with one of his hand repulsors from his suit.

"What's up, March of the Penguins?" he asked without looking up from his work.

"Fuck off, Dead Weight," he growled as he stalked forward.

"Ooh, that's a new one," commented Banner from the side, "I like that one."

"Bruce, I'm hurt," Stark said in mock injury, "You're not supposed to like Big Bird's ideas. I thought we were science bros!"

Bruce shrugged, still appraising the blueprints, "What can I say? When it's good, it's good. I'm an equal opportunity kind of guy."

Coming to a halt in front of Stark's desk, Clint crossed his arms on his chest. "Do you still have access to Shield's databases?"

"Why? You gonna tell on me to ol' one-eye?" Stark aimed his repulsor at a holo-projected target and fired. "No, you see. It's still burning through to the palm. Maybe if I adjust the coolant levels and add a layer of adamantium to the armor…"

Bruce made a noise of disagreement, "Mm. Make sure the beam is spread equally across the blast initiation site, maybe a larger expulsion port."

"Yeah, yeah, already on it, mom." Stark had now taken off the glove, making adjustments on projected images.

Barton rolled his eyes, "Listen, I want to know what Shield is doing with Loki's scepter. I don't like the idea of the guys who tried to blow up Manhattan having access to a big fucking laser-beam stick from another dimension."

Stark finally looked over to the archer, his face a picture of apathetic disbelief, "Really? And don't you work for those guys? Shouldn't _you_ know what they're doing? Last time I heard, you and Russia's Next Top Model Spy were blue ribbon members in their little book club. They kick you out?"

Barton growled and looked away, "It's sort of messed up right now. I don't like them because, you know, the whole blow us up thing was kind of a turn off. They don't like me because Criss Angel decided to mind freak me. Fury said I'm on 'temporary leave.' Whatever. The point is they won't let me know a single thing about the spear or anything to do with anything that happened."

Tony sat quiet for a moment, staring up the archer who was blatantly not looking at Stark. "Hm. Fascinating. Looks like the baby bird fell from his nest and momma bird doesn't care. Sad really. Alright, whadya wanna know?" Stark threw the schematics of his repulsors to the side, and brought up images of the scepter from Shield's files.

Clint sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. At least Stark wasn't suspicious of him. Hell, if Clint wasn't himself, _he'd_ be suspicious of him. "What's the status of the thing?"

Banner had ambled his way over to the projection that Tony had up and was looking on with the rest of them. "It looks like they're keeping it under constant surveillance." Bruce crossed his arms and shifted his glasses.

"Yep. And it also looks like there was a small spike in activity from it starting six days ago. Nothing huge. And it seems to have leveled off at that point." Stark's eyes were bright with information.

"Is there anything about getting rid of it? Of their plans for it?" asked Barton hopefully.

"It's like you don't like the thing or something, Robin" Stark commented in mock curiosity.

"Ooh, Robin," Bruce commented idly as he browsed Shield's files, "You see, that's like a triple hitter there: you got the side-kick reference, the bird reference, and the Robin Hood reference all in one. That's clever."

Clint's thought there was actually more references that could've been made in that, but he wasn't going to point them out.

"Jarvis," Tony piped, "Start a tally. Tony: 3, Barton: 1"

"As you say, sir," replied the calm accented tones of the AI.

Clint growled, "Stark."

As Tony grinned childishly, Bruce moved aside some pages, "It doesn't look like they're sending it anywhere anytime soon, Clint. Looks like they're using it to take the place of the Tesseract. Trying to study it to figure out an unlimited power source…again." Banner rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses.

Tony sat back, "I don't know why I never liked these guys. They're a very determined bunch of people. Hard workers."

Barton's shoulder sagged slightly. As long as that scepter was around, so would Loki. Non-killable, very confusing, head-ache inducing Loki. Clint didn't care that he slept better, he wanted the god gone.

Turning from the two 'science bros', Clint headed out. "Right. Thanks. Gotta go. See ya later." And with that he left.

Bruce and Tony looked at each other. "What was that about?"

* * *

**A/N:** Was it good?

I don't claim to know anything about science. Sadly, the science bros. may suffer for this. But I'm trying to sound somewhat credible. Science and math make my thinker box hurt...

Clint is referring to how both he and Robin were 'raised' in the circus. Nothing integral to the story, though.

**Fun Fact:** Steve Rogers will call you...maybe. (Probably not (shucks)).

That'll do.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** So, I figure I'll update once a week. Every Saturday or Sunday depending on which day is less busy. I'll do this until I run out of pre-written stuff. Once that is reached, you'll just have to wait until I actually write the next chapter, review it, edit it, and review it again. Plus, I edit this stuff you're reading now before I post it anyways. I don't like mistakes. Bleh. (There's probably mistakes anyways!)

If I owned the Avengers, I'd write full time because they'd be paying off my student loans.

Here's a longer one for you. But don't take my word for it...

* * *

Natasha left the New York Shield headquarters which fronted as a miscellaneous business company. It was a few miles from Stark (slowly becoming Avenger) tower, but Natasha parked a mile out—caution was something you couldn't have enough of when you were a spy, assassin, and Shield agent.

As she was walking back to the street where she had parked, she knew she was being watched. She had expected it, was used to it. He always watched—that was what he did because that was what kept him alive, made him useful, got the job done, saved lives. His sight was his best asset, and that which made him valuable to Shield and enemy to countless others.

The small park/courtyard on her right looked harmless enough and it was across from the high-rise he was currently perched on, so choosing a bench underneath the shade of an abutting apartment building, she sat and waited for him. The early September air was still warm with the lingering summer, but the dry breeze held the promise of fall. The few trees there waved softly in the wind, their green leaves glowing with the noon sunlight, reminding her that not everything was dark and metal, bullets and blood. Warmth existed when everything seemed cold. It was real._ It was real_.

While her posture was relaxed—she looked like a normal civilian in jeans, t-shirt, and light cotton jacket—she kept all her senses keen, checking everyone who walked by for weapons, even the father and six year old son who just passed. They were clean. Soon, though, a familiar form in similarly nondescript clothes and sunglasses walked up.

"Hey, long time no see," he called out casually, inclining his head in greeting.

"Yeah. Great weather. Nice day for a walk." Natasha's response was well practiced and rehearsed. For a second, she wondered at her life where a casual conversation was a lie, an act to hide whatever it was they needed to hide. She thought belatedly that perhaps there wasn't much to hide this time. She wished they _could_ just talk about the weather and plans for the weekend or whatever it was that regular people talked about.

Sitting down next to her on the bench, he sighed, "It really is." _I wish we could enjoy it, Tasha._

But that's not why they were there. There was always a reason for being anywhere for them, and it wasn't to sit in the sun and breathe fresh air. Though, there were a few precious times that Natasha could remember where when the mission was over and all she did was stare up at the sky, so clear and clean and blue—so blue, just blue—and simply drift. Those moments lasted forever and were over in seconds at the same time.

Clint sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his back hunched as he clasped his hands. The archer looked tired, but not as tired as he used to. Sleep had finally returned to him, and that made her relax. He needed his sleep if he were to stay alive at vital moments. Her training pushed away the feeling behind her chest when she looked at his vacant, haunted eyes that she knew held the guilt of everything he had been forced to do.

"Looks like I'm going to be in town for a while," she stated nonchalantly. _Fury's not sure I'm ready to go back out in the field._

Clint looked back over his shoulder for a second, then back in front of him, watching the little boy try to fly a poorly made kite. "Oh? For how long?"

The redhead shrugged, "Not sure. Till I'm ready to leave, I guess."

"A vacation, huh?" his voice was quiet as he lowered his gaze to the ground. _My fault_ is what he meant—is what she heard.

Clenching her jaw at his stubborn desire to punish himself, she crossed her legs, "Of sorts. It'll be fun. I can spend some time with my friends, see my guy. He's a real sweetheart. I think you'd like him." If there were any people watching their conversation, listening in, they wouldn't hear anything out of the ordinary. These two were simply acquaintances, friends maybe.

Clint let out a soft laugh, "I don't know. I don't think he's good for your career."

She looked pointedly at the back of his head. "Maybe. But sometimes my job drives me crazy, and he keeps me sane. My sanity is more important than my career."

Turning his head, he looked back at her, a small smile curving his lips, "Well, I guess I can't change your mind."

"You can try," she replied, her own lips pulling up at the corners, "but jealously isn't a good color on you."

Looking back out onto the park, he watched as the boy had left the unsuccessful kite with his dad and had moved onto chasing a group of pigeons.

Sighing, she stood up, "Come on. Let's go get some coffee." _Let's try being normal for an afternoon._

Clint stood almost immediately after her. "Right. And by coffee, you mean a mocha-latte with three shots of espresso and whip cream?"

Natasha started walking towards a small shop she trusted, "The only kind worth drinking. And you can get your hot chocolate. We'll both be happy."

"As can be," and they both walked off side by side in New York City, a regular man and woman amidst a sea of other regular people.

* * *

_Clint was in a place he liked. It was a big, grassy hill which overlooked a picturesque valley, located in up-state New York. He could see for miles, but knew at the same time that he didn't have to. This wasn't a mission. If he wanted, he could've just stared at a dandelion for hours. The breeze was warm but dry, and the sun was high but not hot. Cotton-white clouds that clumped and bulged marked the drinkable blue sky like polka-dots._

_A kite flew high and steady above him, but no string held it there, it simply floated on the unseen wind. It was red. Not the dull red of blood, but the red nose of a circus clown or the cheerful, warm red of someone's hair. Clint hadn't flown a kite in years, not since he was a kid, but the happiest memory he claimed in his ever-darkening collection was on this hill too long ago when he had flown a kite with his brother. _

_Sighing, he laid back in the grass, loving the feel of the sun behind his eyelids and the breeze on his body. Strangely, he still wore his battle uniform, but he didn't really care. Right now, he was blissfully unaware of reality, and blissfully unaware that he was unaware. There was no attack on the city he needed to worry about. No dead friends. No annoying god whose death refused to give him the closure he starved for. Everything around him glowed fuzzily with a calm he hadn't felt in years and with the yet unnoticed nature inherent in all good dreams. _

_"While you have seemingly stopped trying to kill me, and the view is much improved, I cannot say much for my lack of mobility." Loki's smooth voice grated on Clint's nerves as he sat up and looked behind him, the delightful haze clearing slightly. He fought to quell his ire because it seemed to get him nowhere, and blood would really ruin such a scenic moment. _

_But to the archer's surprise, the sight behind him made him cackle. Loki was sitting on his bench in the Hulk-proof containment unit, arms folded over his chest and legs crossed. For all intents and purposes, the mighty God of Mischief and Lies looked like a put-out, petulant child set in time-out. _

_Clint sobered as he became aware that he wasn't actually relaxing on the idyllic hill, but dreaming of it as he slept in the middle of a half-destroyed city. The scene remained the same, but the lovely, dulling glow that seemed to blur out the edges (that feeling he got when was between tipsy and drunk) disappeared. But, hey it was better than nightmares. Way better. Now if only he could get rid of a certain mind-controlling god…_

_"This isn't humorous, mortal" Loki's near-pout voice brought Clint back to the dream at hand. "I told you once to come up with someplace sunnier, but I expected to be able to enjoy its rays, not simply watch you gloat in front of me."_

_Clint turned his back on the god, and faced the deep green valley, "I'm just supposed to let you have free reign in my head? No. I don't think so. I'm glad my subconscious apparently doesn't think so either." _

_Loki growled and began to pace in his portable cell. "You know, I was rendered unconscious for the entire day due to your little outburst. I do hope you are pleased with yourself." _

_Well, that actually did make Clint feel better for some reason. There wasn't actual blood on his hands this time. Simply inconveniencing the Trickster somehow tasted sweeter than shoving a blade into his gut. "Is the sun shining, Sand Man?" he said in reply, the equivalent of asking 'does a bear shit in the woods?'_

_"Excuse me?" the god asked indignantly._

_Clint rolled his eyes, "Never mind."_

_If I had my magic," Loki snarled, "you'd find yourself turned into one of your small Midgardian rodents. Then I would put you in a glass jar and laugh as you were forced to watch as I frolicked around at my own joyous whims in front of you." _

_Clint reveled in making the god impotently angry, and laughed loudly to rub it in his face. "You were right," Clint said as he lay back down in the grass, his hands behind his head, "the sun _has_ lightened my mood. Why don't you take your own advice? Oh, wait." Clint grinned widely and evilly._

_He sighed delightedly as an enraged howl came from behind him, a very small amount of due vengeance being met for the archer._

* * *

Steve watched as Hawkeye, the most reclusive member of the team (that's even including Dr. Banner), laughed openly at the film that was currently on the TV. It was a film called _Step Brothers_ and the two main characters were presently fighting out on the lawn of their shared house.

Somehow, Steve had been put into a place of leadership on this haphazardly created team, and he actually didn't really mind it. There was something in him that wanted to lead, that felt like he _had_ to lead. That if he didn't and something went wrong, it would be more his fault than if he were in charge. If he were the leader, then things were controlled and ordered, and people would remain safe. It seemed that on his team, though he was 'time-challenged', he was the only one with the experience of being in a team, fighting in battles, taking charge, _and_ having a good moral compass. Right and wrong was a script written on his bones. This _was_ a team though, and every person was a vital cog in the machine. If one was broken or missing, the thing would stop working.

Apparently movie time was kind of like oil to the cogs: it helped them to keep moving smoothly. But this film was quite blush-inducing for Steve. Actually, there were several moments when he had to make up an excuse saying he had to get water or go to the bathroom. Films these days were seemingly very racy and inappropriate. His cheeks had been on fire practically since the movie began. There was so much vulgarity and cursing, but the others seemed to enjoy it. Even Thor, a non-Earthling. And this was a form of team building, wasn't it?

He'd even seen Natasha crack a smile every now and then, though her eyes were on the laughing archer when she did. She was certainly the most taciturn of the group, and it was a testament to how much she cared for Barton for her to show any emotion at all in front of others, though she'd never admit it to any of them. Clint, Natasha, Thor and himself were watching the film while Tony and Bruce were still enraptured with 'science' down in the lab.

As the film continued, Thor began to look thoughtful. "I find this story to be rather familiar," he stated a bit sadly. "Seeing, though, as how these 'step brothers' are getting along better now, perhaps Loki and I should build one of these tree houses."

"Speaking of Loki," Barton began, "Was he always such a big douche?" Steve wished that Clint would be a bit more considerate with Thor.

"Barton…" Rogers didn't want to start an argument. That was the opposite of teamwork. The group hadn't been living together for too long, and friendships were still building. With some things, it was like walking on eggshells made of glass.

Thor looked down as he contemplated the answer. "No. When we were younger, Loki and I often played together, getting into all sorts of adventures. He was not as dark as you knew him. He had always been one to enjoy his privacy, though, often seeking out the books of the library. As I grew older, I suppose I grew arrogant and often ignored him, abusing his trust, insulting his skill. He was mischievous but not cruel. He has always been the trickster, and his affinity for magic and his unorthodox appearance often ostracized him from other Asgardians. He would play tricks on them, play games. He loved to frustrate people, both those he hated and those he loved." Thor smiled at this, but quickly sobered. "He…did not have many friends, and I am afraid that I did not help in that matter. Loki has always been smart and clever, quick and masterful with words." Thor paused as he gazed down into his big hands, "He has fallen far, and his mind has been twisted by hate and betrayal. He is not the brother I once knew."

It was obvious the big guy still loved his brother, even after everything; the way he illustrated Loki as simply being misunderstood said as much. "That's tough, Thor," Steve replied, knowing that the situation with his brother was really weighing on the blonde. Rogers didn't like Loki or anything, but he could understand losing someone close to you.

"Yes, it is. I can only hope that father understands what his revelation has done to my brother. I know he was simply trying to protect Loki from the knowledge of his heritage, but I fear keeping secrets may have done more harm than good." Thor stared unseeingly at the TV, where the movie was now paused, his anxious hands lightly pulling on the hem of his flannel shirt.

"So when you said he was adopted," Natasha began flatly, "he had only just found out?"

"Yes." The blonde paused, his eyes flitting to the window, "Well, it had been a couple of months since he fell from the Bifrost, but that is not a long time. I believe that is what fueled his rage… at least partially."

"That's no justification for what he did," the Widow replied automatically. A slight narrowing of her eyes was the only sign that betrayed the fury so tightly contained inside.

"You are right." The god clasped his hands together, one thumb stroking the nail of the other. "I simply wish we could be like we were."

Barton's brow was furrowed. Steve supposed hearing about the guy who forced you to kill your friends was difficult. What if the Red Skull had a family? Had he been ignored as a kid or abused? These were questions Rogers didn't want to know the answers to.

Barton glanced up, "So…ol' Blue Eyes used to be a regular guy, huh?"

Thor looked at the archer confused, "Blue eyes? What do you mean, Barton? Loki's eyes have always been green."

But strangely Clint didn't look surprised as he said, "Oh. My bad. I guess I saw wrong."

"No, you're right," Natasha interrupted, sitting up in her seat. "When I talked with him on the Helicarrier, his eyes were blue."

Thor began to look anxious, "But they _are_ green. Green is quite a rarity on Asgard, and people often…noticed it, among other things, about him." He began to look thoughtful as he rubbed his eyes in concentration. "Are you certain that you both saw this?"

Natasha nodded once and Barton replied, "I had plenty of face to face time with the guy. They were definitely blue."

"And what of you, Steve Rogers?" asked Thor keenly.

The captain shrugged, "To tell the truth, I didn't really ever get close enough to see his eyes. Or when I did, it wasn't really what I was concentrating on. I was kind of busy making sure he didn't kill anybody at the time."

Thor looked like he was trying to remember too, his eyes shut in concentration.

Steve shook his head and sat forward on the couch, "So eye-color change. What does that mean? Anything important?" He directed his question to Thor, but Barton spoke up.

"Well, my eyes were messed up because of his scepter. So…"

"What?" Natasha asked with a hint of surprise on her face, "you think Loki was being controlled like you?"

Thor bent his head into his hands agitatedly.

"I don't know Natasha, I'm just callin' it like I see it. Maybe Loki was trying to fu-" Clint's eyes shot over to Steve, "screw with us, you know? Playing with our heads. Maybe he liked the Tesseract so much he bought some blue contacts to match his new play toy. I don't know."

"Perhaps Jotuns…." The thunderer seemed to be talking to himself. "No. He has always been of that race, so now would be no different, would it?" Looking up from his hands, his rain-colored eyes shone slightly, "Perhaps the fall from the Bifrost changed more than his attitude," Thor proposed hopefully. Steve had no idea what the Bifrost was or how far a fall was from it, but it had to have been some drop if Thor thought it could change eye color. Steve fell from the sky and was frozen for 70 years, and his eyes were still the same color. "I do not like the thought that I fought my brother when I should have been saving him. Besides, Loki has a strong mind and is a powerful being. That he would be caught and put under somebody's sway is not likely." But Thor didn't look much comforted by his own words.

"That's a good point, Thor," Steve added helpfully. He hated to see the usually happy guy so down. "It could've been just the way the light was shining or something."

Standing, Thor left saying "Excuse me friends. I must go and think. It is a thing which I have not done enough of in my life."

* * *

**A/N:** Let's see. The beginning of this chapter I actually just threw in there. I figured Clint needed more of a lead in to his happy dream. I really liked how it turned out, actually. It was easier for me to get into Natasha's head than I thought. Does that make me a super spy?

Happy dream sequence I like and don't like. I like it because it's fluffy and nice and it has a frustrated Loki in it. I don't like it because it because maybe it seems out of character or out of tone with the rest of the story. I figure dreams are weird and you can't predict them. Whatever.

Steve POV portion: I had such a hard time with this. It's choppy and exposition-y. I find Steve's brain a little... bland? Don't hate me! I think I could get more in depth with him if this were a story about him, but as he is sort of a side-ish character, there's only so much I can do with him in certain situations. There is a much better scene with him later.

Do you guys like when I tell you my own take on my writing? If not, I'll stop, but it kind of helps me figure things out, and makes me feel better knowing that you know that maybe I had the same trouble writing certain parts as you are reading them.

I really hope you like reading this. I mean, the point of FF is to lose yourself to a story, to escape. That's what I hope to provide. I'm no James Joyce or F. Scott Fitzgerald, but I like to think that a good plot, character development, and half-way decent writing skills will help anyone to suspend their disbelief and escape reality.

More Loki psychology and whump and love in future chapters (in case you thought you weren't getting enough of the green-eyed hunk).

**Fun Fact**: Loki feels like he is just too close to love you. (Aww man)


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hey guys! I missed you!

Here it is. A bit of plot (I know at least one of you was looking for some. I hope this helps).

Thanks for the reviews and follows and what not. It really actually truly verily keeps me going.

Ownership of the Avengers belongs to people much richer than I...

* * *

"The Tesseract is on Asgard, Lord." The Other bent lowly in front of the giant Titan. He feared him and loved him. Those insignificant Asgardians thought themselves gods, but they, along with all others of the universe, would find themselves quaking, whimpering with dread and terror when the Herald of Death walked amongst them.

The Other could see Thanos' malevolence, could feel it in his sinews. And he liked it. His own lust for death, fear, and power drove him to adore Thanos like a mortal adores a wrathful deity. The Other would follow him to the end of the galaxies, remaining his faithful servant and soldier, doing his bidding and relishing the chaos and pain of all planets.

"Should we attack the so called 'Realm Eternal'?" The Other continued when his master remained silent.

Thanos sat on his rocky throne, looking off into the void where Earth still sat small and trivial. On his red face, his lips curved upwards in a wicked smile. "We have begun a game, and the tesseract is simply a prize which must be won." His voice was low and gravelly. "We have started this diversion with Earth, and I find it amusing. It satiates my hunger for death. We will finish what we have started, and then we will move on to Asgard." The Titan examined his gloved hand. "The tesseract is what drew us here, but that weak Asgardian was only a pawn. He showed us how easily humans will turn on each other. How easily they bring on their own demise."

The Other smiled, his sharp pointed teeth gleaming in the dim blue light of the throne, "Yes. Your scepter proved a formidable weapon against their weak minds and bodies. Yet they resisted and defeated our Chitauri forces along with our ally. The scepter is now in their possession."

Thanos clenched his hand into a fist and smirked. "So it is. But it still has a hold." He turned his dark eyes on the Other. "In time, _you_ will bring me the death of their pitiful race. Until that time, I will watch their progress, watch them try to understand my weapon. It is entertaining to see the rodents scurry and prod and scratch at the claws of a leviathan."

The Other reveled in the malicious laugh which erupted from the death-monger: deep and grating, sustaining every inch of the him where a soul should've been.

* * *

_ "How's Asgard going?"Clint mindlessly asked as he continued to try access codes to open the cell. Apparently his subconscious thought it knew better than his weird dream conscious and wouldn't let him open the door. He had the urge to kill Loki again, even though he knew it would solve nothing. He hadn't had one god-free dream in two weeks, and the idea that Loki was just using him like a TV wasn't flying. While he wasn't really bothering him (no mind-control or making him kill anybody), it wasn't really comforting knowing he was in his head. He was like some newly developed mole that you didn't know whether it was benign or pre-cancerous. Loki _had_ to have some ulterior plan. Clint didn't want to wait for the day when he would wake up and his eyes would be a filmy blue and his heart empty._

_Loki scoffed, "Deplorably, but predictably. It seems Odin has finally come up with a more…permanent way of keeping me quiet. I am no longer his son in his one miserable eye, though in reality I never was." Loki's face twisted in anger. "I would have at least liked to have put my side of the story on the table, but that shall never happen. Not that they would believe the Liesmith anyways."_

_Clint paused in his attempts to open the cell. "What do you mean, 'your side of the story'?" He asked through clenched teeth. "What would you say? That us puny mortals were meant to have our freedom taken from us? That you would have ruled us fairly? That hundreds of lives were _supposed_ to be lost in favor of your rule? When all was said and done, we would grovel at your feet in fucking thanks?!" He clenched his hands and breathed heavily. Loki may have been acting relatively docile in his dreams, but that did not erase what he did in reality. _

_At this, Loki shook his head and laughed softly. "Let me ask you this, Clint Barton," his voice low and genuine, "How many times did I refer to you Midgardians as insects? As mere ants? Puny mortals worth nothing?"_

_Clint didn't answer, but seethed in his rage. _

_"Why would I want to rule such creatures? What kind of power or respect would that give me?" He sighed, "Oh yes, King of the Ants, such an enviable title" he chuckled dryly. "Freedom _is_ a lie. At least for myself. But I care not what you mortals do or how you live. I never did. It is true that I willingly tried to kill my brother and destroy Jotenheim, but after that, after I was denied acceptance, after I had tried _so hard _to prove myself, I wanted nothing more than to cease to exist."_

_Clint's rubbed his forehead, continuing on to rake his fingers through his hair. "Then why?!" he flung his arm out. "Why did you come to Earth? Why did I kill so many people?! Why is Coulson dead?!" He clenched his fists so hard, he could feel his nails biting into his skin. _

_Loki bent one leg on the bench, and propped his elbow on it, his chin resting in his hand as he looked away into the wall of the cell. "I'm glad you are here, Barton. Or rather, that _I_ am here," he gestured to his surroundings, referring to Barton's mind. "_You_ shall hear the truth that is denied for me to speak in my own ho…in Asgard."_

_"What do you mean the truth? I was there! I know the truth."Clint's voice was haggard with emotion. _

_Loki was silent for several moments. "I fell for an indeterminable amount of time. It was so unnaturally, unfamiliarly cold, but my skin felt like it was boiling. There was only pain and my own anguish for too long. I wished for death to take me. Immortality was a curse. But then I landed on a pitiful rock of a planet. There the Chitauri found me. They took me in my weakened form and drove me to the brink of insanity with tortures beyond anything you or your damned woman have ever known" at this a little of the god's old hatred burned on his face, but it quickly turned to disgust as he continued."I tried to fight back, to defend myself, but I was too weak and my magic was non-existent. Besides, I kept hoping that they would make a mistake and somehow kill me. In the end, though, I was brought before Him and the Other. He laughed at me, but said with the right motivations, with the right _purpose_, I could bring many to Death. I was given the scepter, and all my anger, hatred and pride came to the surface and I was blinded by it. I could see or feel nothing else. When I was sent to Midgard, boiling and seething in all the emotions that drove me to seek power, I relished the taste of fear and I fed on rage. I knew what I was doing, and yet I did not. Even now, I can feel them, hear them calling to me, because those feelings are my own. But with the loss of the scepter, I can think and reason. Other emotions keep them from taking over." He sighed as he caressed his thumbnail with the pad of his forefinger; an odd seemingly sub-conscious gesture of the god's. "The rest, I suppose you know. I only regained myself after I met with Banner's beast."_

_As Loki told his story, Clint's anger grew cold and useless, sitting in the bottom of his stomach like bad milk. It was still there, but now it was directionless. _If_ what Loki said was true, then he was as much to blame as Clint himself. _

_"I never loved the human race," continued Loki lowly, "Through the years I have plied my trickery, my infamous mischief, against you all, finding you rather an obtuse and easily confused people. But I never wanted to destroy or rule you." Loki had moved on to tracing his lips with his fingers for a while, but he stopped and looked over to Clint, a small smile on his face, "That would seem rather idiotic don't you think? Since you humans seem rather fond of your independence. I suppose taking over such a race would be somewhat impressive in that sense."_

_Clint gave a small laugh, "and here I thought we were made to be ruled." He crossed his arms across his chest and heaved a sigh, "Shit. This is fucked up."_

_"I couldn't have said it better." Loki stretched, and stood up. "But that is it. I thank you for listening. Whether or not you believe me is of no consequence."_

_Clint thought about it. Loki was good at lying. It was his thing. Like bows and arrows were Clint's thing. But Barton had watched the Trickster through his telling, watched his emotions, his body language. He gauged his motives for lying and for telling the truth. He put his Shield training to work, and he found no duplicity in the god. But, they didn't call him the god of lies for nothing._

_"Shit… I don't know. I've fucking hated you for so long, I don't want to believe you. But what would be the point in lying now, right? It sounds like you're up shit creek without a paddle." Barton shrugged and sat back on the ground, trying to absorb Loki's story. _

_But as the silence continued, Clint looked over to Loki to find the god simply staring at him, a look of sadness mixed with incredulity. "What?" _

_Loki shook his head with a smile and looked away, "Believe it or not, there was a point in my life when I told the truth. But for some previously unknown reason, what I said was never trusted. I learned to lie, and lie well. My falsehoods were more believable than the truth, and it often got me what I desired. I find it ironic that, now of all the times in my long life, it is an enemy who accepts my words when my own 'family' will not even allow me to speak."_

_Clint bent his head. He had never seen the god like this. When he was under his control, Loki had always seemed distant, reclusive, or extremely focused on his final goal. The only emotions he showed were anger and the sick glee from killing. Now the deity was telling him of his life, being almost candid with the archer. "Like I said… fucked up." _

_"Indeed." Loki tapped his lips with his forefinger, and began to pace. "But that's done and over, and there's nothing to do about it." His past gloom was seemingly forgotten as he walked around the small room. "Now it is time to amuse me, for my mind is dulled by imprisonment. Tell me," and he looked over to Barton, "How is Midgard going?" he asked in parody of Clint's earlier question. _

_Clint laughed lowly at the god in front of him, but humored him, "Tony broke his finger."_

_Loki paused, and raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised that he had actually gotten an answer that wasn't something containing the words 'fuck you'. "The so called 'man of iron'? Pray tell how did he manage that?"_

_"I tripped him," Clint smirked._

_Loki barked a laugh, "It is no less than he deserves. The man seemed rather full of himself when I spoke with him."_

_"Yeah, I just got sick of him calling me Bird Boy and Feathers and Robin Hood, so I figured he needed to drop down a peg. I dropped him."_

_Loki had a smile on his face, and seemed to be envisioning the event right before his eyes. "How deliciously devious of you. I knew I chose my underling well."_

_The room once again began to fill up with fog, and Loki sighed. "Seems like our time is up. Until next time, Clint Barton. Oh and please, do try and be more diverting. Things have been rather dramatic lately, don't you think?"_

_As Barton began to grow more and more tired, the last thing he said was "What am I? A dancing monkey." To which Loki grinned his most toothy grin. _

* * *

It was one of those rare nights where all the Avengers and Pepper were gathered around the table. They had just finished chicken marsala with a salad prepared by Banner, and were now talking candidly as they fought over what they wanted to do next.

"I say we hit up the clubs, show them a little swagger." Stark sat back, his hands behind his head.

"I can see the headlines now:" began Clint, "Tony Stark. Avenger or the next Lindsay Lohan?"

"Wait, who's Lindsay Lohan?" piped Steve.

Pepper leaned over, patting his hand, "No one important, Steve. Just a starlet who likes to party."

"Yeah: Stark," Barton grinned.

Sitting forward, Tony rolled his eyes. "Well what's your brilliant plan, oh non-genius?"

"I vote movie," he shrugged.

"Seconded," Natasha added.

"That's a surprise," Tony added dryly, to which he got a death glare from the Widow. Stark cleared his throat, "uh, right. And what does everyone else think?"

"I guess I could get to know the night-life of the city better," Steve said hesitantly. Stark raised his eyebrows in surprise, but then held up his hand for a high-five from the leader. Rogers actually understood this gesture, and maybe responded a little too eagerly when he Tony hissed and flexed his hand afterwards.

"I feel like the Other Guy meeting alcohol, crowds, flashing lights, and loud music is a bad idea. Movie." Banner sipped his water demurely.

"Hey! Maybe the Green Machine is a real partier!" Tony whined.

Banner raised his eyebrow at that.

"Whatever. It's down to you Point Break. Bring it to a tie so that we can go into sudden death. They don't call it Thirsty _Thor_sday for nothing." Tony leaned forward eagerly.

Thor, who hadn't said a word all night, other than a few 'pleases' and 'thankyous', looked around the table determinedly. "I have something I wish to tell you. I have decided to return to Asgard in a week's time. I wish to speak to my brother. I have many questions that need answers."

Everyone was quiet from this sudden and unexpected declaration. "Alright," Steve finally responded, "sounds like a solid plan, Thor. I think Earth is doing alright right now. We should be okay."

Thor nodded, "I just thought it wise to inform you of my intentions." Standing, Thor began to leave, but before he left, he turned and said with a smile, "and I would very much enjoy seeing another one of these movies."

Thor left to the sounds of a groaning Tony and a whooping Clint.

* * *

**A/N:** What do you think? I have my own thoughts on this chapter, and I wonder if yours are the same.

Obviously, I like Loki and Clint. The others will definitely come into play later, some whom I did not think would play as big a role as they do.

Characterization okay? I'm thinking of making Tony _slightly_ darker... nothing crazy, but based on that Iron Man 3 preview, he seems more affected by the NY attack than I had originally thought. But that's later and we don't have to worry about that quite yet.

What do you guys think about Odin? I think he needs to be addressed, but I want most of my focus to be on the Avengers and Midgard. Plus, family issues are hard... *pout*.

**Fun Time**: Thor is racing on the thunder, and Tony rises with the heat, and they're the supermen to sweep you off your feet. (That's a diluted song reference...) :P


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N**: *Sigh* so I can't Copy-n-Paste from Microsoft Word anymore, so I have to do it from the default word processor, so my formatting might be off... urg. I tried to fix everything, so whatever. If it's messed up, now you know why.

I'm not doing the disclaimer anymore. FFN doesn't say we have to. Plus, I already put it at the beginning of this story, so I figure that's good enough.

Thanks to all those who reviewed. Brings a happy tear to mine eye :')

* * *

Pepper woke in the dark bedroom, her wrist clasped in a vice like grip. Beside her, Tony lay rigid, his breaths stilted and labored.

This wasn't the first time she'd woken like this. "Tony," she murmured.

"I'm fine" he replied too quickly, his voice haggard.

Pepper placed her other hand on the one that was grasping her. "I know, Tony. It's okay. It's okay." Gently, she unwrapped his hand from her wrist, bringing them clasped up to his glowing chest. Pressing his hand to his heart, she caressed his damp face, and she couldn't tell if the moisture was from sweat or tears.

Wrapping her arm around him, she held him tight for several minutes until his breathing slowed and his body relaxed. "Tony?" she asked, knowing he hadn't gone back to sleep.

He sighed, "yeah?"

"I'm going to the kitchen, okay? I'll be back in a couple of minutes. Is that alright?" When he had woken like this the first night they'd slept in the same bed, she'd silently gotten up, trying not to disturb him. When she'd come back, his eyes were wide, and he shook slightly.

"Right." Tony nodded, locking his bright determined eyes with hers before turning his gaze to the ceiling.

Pepper leaned down and kissed his cheek, then stood, a flash of lightning illuminating the room, thunder soon following. "I'll be back soon, Tony."

"I'll try to stay awake, but no promises," his false bravado showing itself. Tony was good at hiding behind humor. Pepper decided it was how he coped, and that was fine with her. As long as he could be honest with her when they were alone, then he could joke all he wanted with everyone else.

Walking down the stairs from the master suite to the penthouse living area, she made her way in the flashing darkness to the small kitchen. The thunder had actually become almost nonstop, and the lightning was near constant, lighting up the area enough for her to see where she was going without turning on any lights.

Pepper opened the fridge looking for the one thing that seemed to really calm Tony, that seemed to lull him back to sleep. Pulling out the milk, she retrieved a glass from a cupboard and filled it to the brim.

"Lady Pepper," Thor's voice startled her from behind, and she nearly dropped her cup.

"Thor!" she gasped.

"I am sorry," Thor dipped his oddly wet head. Actually, he was completely soaked, dripping water onto the tile floor.

"What are you doing up so late?" she asked, regaining her composure.

The thunder god glanced away, a sudden shock of lightning lighting the room, "I have had a difficult time sleeping as of late. My thoughts trouble me."

Pepper's heart twisted at the expression of hurt and confliction on his face. "I'm sorry. It sounds like things are pretty crazy for you, considering…everything." She looked out the window, something occurring to her, "Is the storm you, then?"

Thor gazed out the window, "Yes. It tends to happen when I am uneasy."

Pepper sighed. Apparently being with Tony Stark meant living with a bunch of emotionally compromised, super humans and assassins. The cultural perspective was that superheroes were invincible, morally infallible, one-dimensioned people who had everything under control, when in reality they had so much more on their plates than everyone else. Pepper had to agree that heroes weren't born, but made. Made through hard lives, fighting, and trauma. And then saving the world brought its own pain and baggage. It wasn't as easy as the comic books made it to be.

Thor was one of these heroes. He wasn't an infallible god, but a person who happened to be from another planet with family problems and a history and life of his own. Pepper was pretty sure that he, along with most the others in the tower, woke at night wishing they had someone they could grasp onto when all was dark and the walls seemed too close.

Pepper held out her glass to the god. "Here. This always helps Tony."

Thor's brow furrowed as he looked down at the milk in her hand, but then relaxed as he took it, his blue eyes softening. "Our mother used to give us milk when we were younger. I often did not want to sleep, and Loki suffered from nightmares."

Pepper swallowed as she got another cup from the cabinet and poured another glass of milk. "Your mother was a smart woman."

"Indeed."

Putting away the carton, Pepper turned to Thor. "Go to sleep Thor. Everything will be fine. In the morning, things will seem much easier, and you'll feel better."

Thor nodded, more to himself than to her, "Stark is lucky to have you, Lady Pepper."

She smiled, "Yes, he is. It's a good thing I love him."

Thor let out a soft chuckle, "Goodnight. I hope the milk helps Stark as well."

As Thor turned, Pepper thought for a moment. "Don't tell the others about Tony's whole 'not sleeping' thing, Thor. We wouldn't want his image to be ruined, would we?"

Thor grinned, "I'm sure it is nothing public drunken revelry would not fix."

Pepper laughed, and went back to Tony, ready to soothe him back to sleep.

* * *

_Clint was on top of Stark's sky scraper. Tallest building in New York. A good place to see things, to think. It was cold and windy, but the sun shone glaringly above him in a light blue sky._

_A blaring screech rent the air, and Hawkeye readied his bow. Chitauri were climbing up the building in droves, and as each one clambered over onto his level, he would send an arrow through its throat or eye-socket or gaping mouth. He didn't miss. He never did. _

_"Working out some more aggression, are we?" asked a familiar voice. Clint whipped around, his arrow still notched to find Loki, an eyebrow raised as he glanced around the rooftop._

_Hawkeye smirked as he aimed right for the god's eye, "I'm going to like this."_

_Loki rolled his eyes, "Please, didn't we already do this? Tell me, how did that turn out again?"_

_The Chitauri seemed to have stopped their attack as Clint shut his eyes as memories began to return._

_"How many times must we do this, Barton?"Opening his eyes, Clint glanced at his taught bow. Some part of him raged still, howled at him to release the arrow, to kill the god who fucked up his life so much. But as Barton glared at Loki, blue eyes meeting green, he couldn't. He knew if he did, the archer would feel worse afterwards. Such is the nature of revenge. The hatred he once felt for the god had morphed into hatred for the situation, for the God-damn circumstances of all that went down. He wanted to hate Loki. He really, _really_ did. But for some reason, Clint had believed his words, believed that the trickster was—if just barely—a victim like Barton himself. Only barely. The guy was still an asshole._

_Lowering his bow, Clint sighed, turned towards the view of the city, and sat down. "You're out of your cage."_

_Loki walked out to the ledge in front of Clint and peered over. "It appears so. I must admit, I am surprised. Apparently some part of you trusts me. It's almost laughable." Loki then, with all the grace of royalty, sat, his coat flaps neatly spread out behind him and his legs dangling over the edge. _

_Barton huffed, shaking his head, "Yeah, hilarious." He watched as the Trickster seemingly sat in thought, again rubbing his lips with his fingers almost like he was feeling for something that he couldn't find. Glancing down, the god saw a rip on the cuff of his jacket. Suddenly the rip was gone, and Loki had gone back to staring out at the city._

_"Hey wait," Barton called, "I thought you couldn't do magic."_

_Loki looked back in apparent ignorance, "Hm?"_

_"You just did magic," the archer gestured to the god's arm._

_Loki scoffed and rolled his eyes, a sneer settling on his face, "Don't be ridiculous. That wasn't magic."_

_Barton growled in frustration, "then what was it?"_

_Loki sighed a long-suffering sigh, "I am projecting my conscious into yours. I appear before you as I choose to. If I lose a certain amount of concentration, how I appear may alter based on certain...exterior and mental factors."_

_Barton thought for a moment, "You're really pissed about the whole no magic thing, aren't you? It can't be _that_ bad."_

_The god spun around and stood up with such vehemence, Barton was surprised he hadn't fallen off. Pacing, Loki rubbed at his wrists, "Imagine this, Barton," he began darkly, his brow furrowed and his gaze on the ground, "you were born with a set of lungs and a set of gills. For all your life you used your lungs to breathe. You reveled in oxygen. You loved the taste, the smell, the feel of it. You knew nothing else. Then someone throws you into a river, a boulder strapped to your back, expecting you to breathe. You were never told how to use your gills, so you continue to try and use your lungs, only to find yourself drowning. As you hit the bottom, and as you think you are about to die, the smallest amount of oxygen reaches your brain because somehow you are barely breathing. Using those damned gills of yours to filter out what small amounts of oxygen there is under water to live, to survive. Your chest aches in protest, and your eyes dim in the darkness, but you live. You can no longer feel the breeze on your face, or smell the sweetness of grass and trees in the air that you so loved. You are forced to lie on the bottom of the river, straining to exist as you gaze up at the surface where the sun shines and birds glide on the wind." Loki stopped pacing and looked over to where Barton sat, "_That_ is how 'bad' it is."_

_Barton watched as the god took a few deep breaths, his eyes closed and his hair trembling in the breeze. Clint hadn't been there when Loki had been placed in the shackles. He wondered what the god's reaction had been. "So is that your punishment then? No magic and jail time?" For a second, Clint's natural reaction was 'that's not enough' but it was quickly tempered with the memory of Loki's story. With the things Thor had said about who Loki was before he went crazy. What did the god deserve? Damn._

_Loki let out a dry laugh, "If only it were simply that, though I can assure you it would be enough. No, no. The All-Father gives judgment tomorrow actually. I am on the edge of my proverbial seat as I await his just and righteous punishment" he finished sarcastically.  
_  
_Barton sighed, running a hand through his short sandy hair. Then, out of nowhere a bucket appeared beside him filled with colorful, fat water balloons. He glanced down at them, then back at the moody god who had gone back to rubbing his lips thoughtfully. He hadn't noticed the sudden appearance of what Clint was now calling 'anger management'. The archer grinned deviously as he picked up one, reveling in its fullness._

_"Hey, Sand Man!" he called, Loki's green eyes flitting up, "Suck on this!" and with the true aim the archer was known for, the purple balloon flew through the air, almost seemingly in slow motion. Barton fed off the surprised look on Loki's face and the subsequent hit to said god's face. The satisfaction of the impact tasted like expensive chocolate.  
_  
_Loki stood stock still, violet latex stuck to his face, his hair and leather top soaked. Barton cackled with evil glee, "Entertaining enough for you?!"_

_As the archer looked back at the god, suddenly to his horror another bucket of water balloons popped into existence beside Loki. Slowly looking down, a familiar manic grin appeared on the trickster's face.  
_  
_"Hey wait! What the fuck is that?!" Barton yelled up into the sky. His own brain had apparently evened out the playing field.  
_  
_Large crates, like the ones they always have in video games, popped up on the roof, creating places to hide and attack from.  
_  
_Loki palmed a balloon, tossing up into the air like an apple. "How quaint, Barton. You do know you will pay for that."  
_  
_The two enemies faced each other like two old timey western movie characters. No one would be surprised if a tumbleweed bounced by.  
_  
_"Feelin' lucky punk?" asked Clint in a very good imitation of the actor who shared his first name.  
_  
_Loki smirked, "Very."  
_  
_Stark's rooftop erupted with chaos as the two fought a battle of epic proportions. There were shouts of victory and anger as they jumped and hid and threw and dodged. For that short period of time, Barton forgot who he had killed, and Loki forgot whatever it was he needed to forget._

_Neither of them noticed when the grey mist began to take over._

* * *

**A/N**: The logistics of Stark's tower makes me all squirrely in the head. I just don't know where things are beside that one living room-ish area that is in the movie. I figure there would be a kitchen attached. Also, I have decided that Tony's master suite is in one of the few upper floors above it, accessible by stairs. I figure that the R&D (labs) area would be located closer to the ground floor. The sleeping areas for everyone else, somewhere in the middle. All these are accessible by elevator, and emergency stairs. I like to think that the labs also have a separate elevator for Tony's (or the Avengers) use, since Tony spends so much time there. We'll see if that even makes it into the story. The main floors and ground floor are where the employees for Stark's company work (though, what does he do now that he doesn't make weapons?) If someone wants to help me with this whole tower/Stark industries thing, I'm open to advice. (sorry that was long and probably unnecessary).

I like character development. I think that I could have a whole story about characters without any plot whatsoever. But, there is a plot, and it will show itself at points.

I like Pepper. I think she's awesome. I love what she and Tony have together.

Water balloon fight between Clint and Loki? Yep, it happened. I hope it fit. I think Clint's subconscious was tired of all the heavy and serious stuff it was being fed-of everything being so complicated. So it lightened things up a bit. Like I said, and will probably say again: Dreams are weird.

I just want to tell you, if you do review, I often leave detailed and informative responses (just ask any of my previous and lovely reviewers!)

**Fun Fact:** Clint secretly loves chocolate. He'd love it if you shared a Godiva bar with him.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Ah! This is late! I'm sorry.

If you want to know why keep reading. If you're like "I don't care, just give me a story" skip from  
**HERE**  
So here's reason. Laptop fell off bed and my thumb drive broke. My poor little story was on it. So, I had to copy and paste from FF on to a new thumb drive and kind of re-write stuff I had already done. But it was good, in a way, because I think I was getting a little mired down in writing stuff, and having to go back and change other stuff, blah blah blah. Now it's like a fresh start, sort of. Then I had an event on the weekend. Plus I usually feel like writing in the mornings, but I work then so, there's that too. That leads me to this point now. Um. So there you go.  
**TO HERE**  
My updates will now be less scheduled. Hopefully they will be once every one or two weeks.

So, love you lots and here's the story folks! (Again, my apologies for any formatting issues).

* * *

"Loki," spoke Odin softly but strongly, his voice echoing in the large and crowded room. Many Asgardians had shown up to see Loki's judgment. The Trickster stood at the bottom of steps leading to the throne, diligently not looking up at the ruler of Asgard. Thor was not in attendance and Frigga stood besides the All-father, her face a mask of composure.

"You have betrayed this realm, you attempted to destroy the realm of Jotunheim, and you sought to conquer the realm of Midgard. You endangered Asgard by bringing its enemies across its borders, you sought to eliminate a whole race, and you allied with forces to claim Midgard, resulting in the loss of thousands of lives. All of these are atrocities that are not worthy of any citizen of Asgard, leastways a prince." Odin paused and looked down on Loki. "The single most grievous crime you committed, though, were none of these" his voice lowered so only the three of them could hear it, "Your lack of self control—your weakness of character at a moment when it was dearly called for—nearly cost me my sons."

_Lies_. Loki turned his glare on his non-father, unable to speak his anger.

"_No, Loki_"

Odin's words from when Loki hung from the Bifrost rang in his mind like broken wind chimes. _'I could have done it Father! I could have done it! For you! For all of us._' The day he'd found out about his heritage, all Loki wanted to do was prove his worth. He wanted to show that even if he were a monster, not a true son of Odin, that he could still rule like one—could take the place of Thor as King of Asgard. '_All I ever wanted was to be your equal!'_ he had told Thor.

But when everything was done, when he looked up into his father's face, searching for affection and pride, all he found was disappointment and regret.

"_No, Loki"_

Odin didn't care for him, for Thor surely, but not Loki. Never Loki.

Loki's face was contorted in anger and bitterness, his gaze darting to his once-mother, who closed her eyes. Was even _she_ against him? She who had always comforted him, who'd smiled at his first performances of magic, who had farewelled him every time he left with Thor to help an endangered realm. Had that all been an act?

"My judgment is this" he began, his voice once again loud and full, "you shall return to Midgard, for to them you dealt the most grievous blow. There you shall serve out your punishment in whatever way they see fit." Odin made eye-contact with his former son as he said his next words: "You may speak when you find one who will trust you, Loki, for your lies have created a great rift between you and all those around you."

Odin sighed, the full weight of his years showing in his one blue eye. "You may have been born a Jotun, but you are my son. Did you not declare, when you killed Laufey, that it was by the hands of a son of Odin?"

Loki strained against the biting thread, small drops of blood forming around his lips. _Yet you said 'No'. 'No Loki No Loki No Loki' Oh, how you pick the truth you turn into wisdom._ Loki failed to notice how Frigga gripped the folds of her dress, her brows drawing together slightly.

"You have let the happenstance of your birth rule you" continued Odin either ignorant or apathetic of the distress of both his son and his wife. "But it is you who defines your soul, Loki. When you understand this, you may return home."

Odin's words were nonsense, ridiculous turn of phrases that were meant to quell Loki's rage. For all the insight he was acclaimed to have, the king of Asgard was a narcissistic, senile fool. _Ridiculous sentiment._

"You are our son, Loki." Frigga's voice was gentle but sincere, "We love you. I could not bear it if we lost you to yourself again." These were her first and only words as she gazed down at Loki, her brow knit in concern and entreaty.

Loki felt the force of his heritage crush down on him as he looked up at his mother. His mother…his mother? He loved her, he could not deny that—could not deny the feeling that twisted in his chest and built behind his eyes. He was a monster for being the cause of the sadness on her delicate features. In his rage, even before he had fallen from the bridge, there was a part of him that did not care who got hurt, just so long as it was not himself. That anger had been real, and that was the anger which had harmed her—not the blinding affected anger and hate of Thanos, but his very own.

Loki was jolted from his thoughts by two guards grabbing his arms, and ushering him out. Glancing back once more, Odin stood unaffected, his spear grasped in one hand. To his side, Frigga was a pale pillar, her hands clasped delicately in front of her, and lips pressed into a thin line. But what caught Loki's gaze was one silver line trailing down her cheek.

Right then, more than Odin or Thor or Thanos, he hated himself.

* * *

A few days later, Thor walked briskly across the Rainbow Bridge to the dungeons. He never liked going into the depths beneath the palace. They were the opposite of the bright, airy surface of Asgard: dark, cold, and harsh. Not many people were kept there, for the citizens of the realm did not often commit crimes, though the rates did seem to rise on royal days of feasts or celebration.

On approaching Loki's cell, Thor wondered how his brother faired. He had not seen him since he left him nearly a month ago, and his chest tightened to think that now perhaps he may have been imprisoned wrongfully. Hopefully now, his muzzle had been removed and he could at least hear what his brother had to say, lie or not.

The cell was empty though, and Thor called for a guard.

"Where is my brother?" he asked agitatedly. Had he escaped?

"The All-Father has passed judgment on him, my Prince," the guard replied dutifully. "He sentenced him several days ago."

Pushing by the guard, Thor grew angry as he went to seek out his father. Why had he not notified him of his brother's sentencing? Marching through the courtyards and halls of the palace, Thor had to force himself to be patient instead of using Mjolnir to bring him hastily to either his father or to his brother wherever he was.

He found Odin sitting in his study, parchment spread out before him on a desk.

"Thor," he began quietly and calmly, "you have returned."

"Father," he tried to keep his voice steady, "where is Loki?"

Odin didn't react, "he is serving out his punishment on Midgard."

"And what punishment is that?"

"Whatever the Midgardians decide." Odin pierced him with a strong gaze, "Do you not think they should serve out justice to the one who so gravely wounded them?"

Thor sighed heavily through his nose. His father was wise, and Thor trusted and loved him, but… "Father, the Midgardian warriors and I have recently come to the knowledge that Loki may not have been completely himself when he came to Midgard."

Odin gazed steadily back, his features like stone, "Explain."

Thor began to pace as he told his father of all the conclusions concerning Loki's attack—the coloration of his eyes and the dramatic change of behavior after the battle. When he finished, he glanced at the All-Father, awaiting his opinion.

"While what you report is unsettling, it only _may_ account for what happened on Midgard. What of Jotunheim and the thousands who are now dead? Of his attempt to kill you and your friends? Of his lies and the hurt he caused even before he fell? If he does not carry fault for the attack on Midgard, he is at fault for everything before." Odin walked forward and placed a hand on Thor's shoulder, "I am not condemning Loki to death, but he must understand the wrongness of his actions."

The god of thunder shook his head, "He has reason to hate, father. We did not treat him as he ought to have been. I was too arrogant to see his suffering, too blinded by the shine of the crown and deafened by the roar of battles. I hurt him and did not care." Thor gazed out a nearby window at the setting sun.

"Is the destruction of a planet justified then? The murder of a brother? Does casting himself into the unknowable depths of Yggdrasil become understandable?" Odin's grip had become tight on Thor's shoulder.

Thor looked down at his feet. His sadness and indeed his anger at his brother over what he did before he fell from the Bifrost returned. His own brother had tried to kill him. Loki had lied to him, saying that their father was dead and that their mother had forbidden Thor's return. Loki had been the reason for his long separation from Jane. Loki had let go. He had looked Thor right in the eyes and simply let go.

Thor rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed. "What do you think the humans will do with him?" asked Thor somewhat resignedly.

Odin suddenly turned cold as he returned to his seat behind his desk, "I know not. He is a criminal and whatever punishment they decide for him is their choice to make."

"I wish to seek him out—did he tell you of anything of his time on Midgard? Did he say anything that might suggest his innocence? While he has done wrong, he certainly does not deserve the ire of a realm which he did not willingly attack, if that is the case."

Odin paused, "He did not. His lies have corrupted too many and have destroyed too much, and he received retribution for them." Odin regarded Thor stonily, "Do not look for him, Thor. You will only put yourself and others in danger if he tricks you again."

Thor's gaze narrowed, "Is that why I was not summoned to his judgment?"

The All-Father sighed, "You would have made a difficult situation even more so. It is obvious you still regret the actions that needed to be taken to capture and hold him. You would have fought for a more lenient punishment."

Thor shook his head, "I—"

Odin stood, blue eye catching blue eyes. "I ask this of you Thor. Do _not_ search for him. Your heart is too big for your own sake. You will take pity on him, but he has not yet learned to take pity on others. If you go to him too soon, you will only ruin his chances at redemption." Odin watched his son steadily.

Thor wanted to protest, but what his father said made sense. It may be difficult, but Loki needed time to calm himself and think. "I will wait then" Thor finally agreed. Taking a breath, Thor watched as the last of the sun sank below the watery horizon. "Where is mother? I would be glad to see her before I return to Midgard."

"She is on a good-will visit to Vanaheim," he stated, though the corners of his mouth lifted slightly, "it is Spring there."

Thor understood now why his father smiled, "She always did like their flowers. I think we wouldn't be in such good standings with them if they did not grow those Violets she so adores."

"If you keep that in mind, my son, then you will be a good king," and father and son laughed softly in the deepening dusk.

* * *

_Clint lay in a ditch on the side of a long forgotten road, the remnants of a rundown circus—yellow and red cloth streamers, odd bits of popcorn and peanuts, sparkling confetti—falling around him like colorful rain in the dark._

_He hurt. Every bit of him. It was black and cold, and the silence roared in his ears, the sound of the blood rushing through his skull like a thunderous river._

_Someone sat down next to him in the darkness, but their presence was comforting and familiar._

_"Do I have to get you out of this mess too, Barton?" asked the dry but warm voice._

_Clint opened his blood-caked eyes and saw the silhouette of a balding man in a suit next to him._

_"You kn—"he cleared his throat, "You know me, Phil. Always poking where I shouldn't. What would I do without you?"_

_"I'm sure you'll figure something out." Standing, Coulson grabbed Clint by the collar and stood him on his feet._

_Grapsing his handler's shoulder, Hawkeye popped his arm back into its socket with a loud pop, "Where…Where's Barney? We should get out of here."_

_"Right here, Clint." As the sun began to rise, he saw his brother standing a few feet away, his longish brown hair waving gently in the morning breeze and his tall form outlined in the pink glow behind him. "Damn. Looks like curiosity beat the shit out of the cat."_

_"Shut up," the archer grumbled as he began to stumble away from Coulson towards the Shield issued car. He'd just been betrayed by his mentor that he'd known since he'd joined the circus more than five years ago, and nearly beaten to death. He just wanted to get somewhere where there was a bed and a shower._

_He heard Coulson chuckle from behind him, "Can't wait to see the look on Romanoff's face when—"but he was cut short by a sickening sound which rang through his blood: metal sliding past flesh and crunching through bones._

_Turning, he saw a horribly familiar blade sticking from Phil's chest, his blue eyes shining in the sunrise, the red on the tip of the blade glowing in the warm light. As the spear was removed, the handler fell to the ground, and the attacker was revealed. Clint stumbled with shock as he saw himself standing over his now gasping, bleeding friend, a sick smile on his lips and his eyes clear as the sky above them._

_"Wha..?" Clint gasped._

_"What's going on?" he heard his brother growl from behind him. "What've you done?!"_

_Clint fell to his knees and began to crawl towards Coulson, his mind foggy and racing to make sense of everything._

_"Clint!" Barney yelled, "How could you? What's wrong with you?! Jesus! He saved you from all of this and you… I can't… I don't understand." Clint heard his words but didn't listen. He was too caught up in trying to stem the blood flow from Coulson's chest._

_"Barney, get help!" he called out._

_Again, there was another horrible sound, but this one was different and horribly too familiar: a sharp thwack, a sudden gasp, and the sound of Barney's body hitting the ground. Clint knew before he looked what had happened, but he looked anyways._

_His brother lay only feet away, face in the ground, and an arrow in his back. "Barney…" he muttered, a pain in the back of his throat that radiated to his chest._

_"Look what you did…again." His own voice startled him from his grief. Looking up, he saw two versions of himself, both dressed in his shield issued uniform. One held the strange spear, and the other his well-known bow. They stood over him, their faces now grim and focused._

_"Who's next?" One of them asked._

_Both of them looked up somewhere above Clint. Suddenly, he felt the pressure of a blade, cold as wet snow, pressed against his throat. "You can't be trusted. You're a liability," he heard his voice say, though it did not come from his mouth. "No one can trust you, you can't even trust yourself." There was no pain, though, as the knife dug into his jugular—no pain as it sliced a red smile into his neck. As he fell onto his back, he looked up into six pair of clear blue eyes. Eyes that he hated._

_They moved out of his line of sight, and the last thing he saw in the red sky was a single black balloon floating lazily on an unseen, unfelt breeze._

* * *

Clint sat up slowly, ignoring the wetness under his eyes. It was still dark out, and after a week of returned nightmares, he wondered if there was any way to fix his head. Shield therapy didn't seem to help, though he had only gone to two sessions directly after the attack. He didn't like shrinks; he didn't like letting people into his head. If he could have, he would have chuckled at the irony.

Loki had been missing from his dreams since the one with the balloon fight, and since then his nightmares and come back like they'd never left.

Dressed in only his flannel pants, he left his room and headed towards the one person he thought could help. She knew what it was like to have someone in her head. To be someone you didn't know. She knew what it was like to hurt those you love, to live with nightmares.

Standing outside her door, he raised his hand to knock, but stopped. '_No one can trust you_.' It had been a dream, but had it been wrong? _'You can't even trust yourself.'_

He leaned his head against her door and shut his eyes.

Trapped. That's how he felt. Trapped in his own head, by himself in himself.

* * *

Thanos opened his eyes and smiled.

"It looks like our little pet is back on Midgard. How fortunate." He turned to the Other. "Soon you shall go. Soon you shall show them the beauty that is death. Show them the power of what they can only dream of. And while you do that, while you show them how weak their mortal minds are to my power, at the same time we will punish the little god for his failure." The Titan's laugh was low and grating.

"When shall I go, my lord?" asked the Other, bowing in reverence.

"Go when they think they understand my weapon. When they think they are safe, comforted by what they believe is knowledge, we shall show them how wrong they are, and I shall laugh."

The Other smiled.

* * *

**A/N: **There you have it. Odin and Thor and Judgment and a sneaky bit of sort-of plot. I think the next chapter or so will be rather more climatic.

I added a bit of Clint history. Stuff that still bugs him because he's more than just what happened in the movie, right? More weighs on his mind than just Loki and mind control.

Some of you wonder, why doesn't Clint tell someone?! I fought with this subject for a long time, but I think this chapter gives the answer.

Hmm, I wonder what will happen with Loki? Perhaps the Midgardians will simply rap him on the knuckles with a ruler and send him on his merry way...

I tried to make Odin somewhat reasonable in his thoughts, but I think exactly why he is so angry/cold with Loki is still yet to be mostly revealed.

Yep. Updates will be hopefully once every week or two.

**Fun Time!** Bruce is sweet and almost kind, but he was mean and he was coarse and unrefined, but now he's dear, and so unsure. We wonder why we didn't see it there before. (*Cough* Beauty and the Beast *cough* )


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Right. So we meet again.

This chapter jumps back a bit to right after Loki's sentencing. So, like a week before the end of the last chapter, I think. Time is stupid.

*Ahem* Let's move on though, shall we? Too much talk! Try this chapter on for size! SHAPABOOIE! (Totally stole that from Kung-Fu Panda.)

* * *

Ever since Jane had agreed to join Shield as Chief Scientist of the Astrophysics and Galactic Research Department, she had been developing her theory on the Einstein-Rosen Bridge and wormholes. There hadn't been many cosmic anomalies since the NY attack, other than tiny meteorites, solar flares, and space junk, and for the past month she'd been studying videos and whatever readings had been taken of the wormhole that the Tesseract had made in New York.

Shield had built a make-shift base right near the Bifrost landing site in New Mexico, which was quickly becoming an actual Shield facility. This is where Jane had been working since she had returned from Norway, giddily reveling in all the technology that she had at her hands to search the depths of the galaxy and understand more about where Thor came from, and more interesting, how.

"Woah…" Jane tapped on the keyboard loudly, her face now a mere couple inches from the screen.

The readouts from the Bifrost site sensors were scrawling feverishly across her monitor, showing what looked like the formations of another wormhole.

"What's up?" asked Darcy, who been not 'not' forced to join Shield, but only as an assistant/secretary role and Darcy had insisted staying with Jane and helping her with any desk work. "Is it Pete? Aka: Agent Hottie?" The bespectacled brunette started petting her hair and straightening her clothes, spending not a little amount of time on her ample chest region and arranging the visibility of her cleavage.

"Ummm…" Jane stuttered for a few seconds, staring at her screen. "Uh… no. No. It's um, yeah. You know that big red button you've been wanting to push since we started working here?" When they first started, Darcy had been barely able to keep herself from the comically clichéd red button located on the wall, but Fury's one-eyed death glare when he was introducing them to their new workstation kept her from even breathing in its direction, though she did send wistful glances its way every now and then.

"Yeah?" Darcy asked, her 'hottie-alert' ministrations halted for the moment, suddenly bouncing on her feet. "You mean the one meant for incoming, possibly hunky alien drop-offs?"

"Yep. Hit it." The clouds and stars on her monitor began swirl in a familiar way.

"Really?" Darcy was twisting her fingers and gazing with wide eyes at Jane.

"Darcy! Hit it!" If the readings on her computer were any indication (and Jane knew they were), somebody was about to appear in the New Mexico desert, and it wasn't Thor; _Thor who was currently in New York_, Jane thought somewhat forlornly.

Darcy ran over to the wall, but stopped suddenly, her hand inches from the button. "Oh my god, dude, I've been waiting to do this for a long time:" she swallowed then yelled, "We've got one!" and slammed the button. An alarm rang throughout the facility and red lights flashed from the ceiling.

As agents ran by the room, guns in the hands, the two women stared at each other, golden brown eyes meeting blue. "Um… We're totally going, right?" asked Darcy glancing at the door.

Jane grinned, her eyes bright with scientific curiosity, "Oh yeah." The two of them quickly grabbed their jackets, Jane also picking up her Stark Pad. Stark had supplied much the equipment in her department, but she'd never met the man. She wondered if he knew that most of the time Darcy used it to play Angry Birds.

The women joined the group of black-clad agents, white-jacketed scientists and lab assistants that cautiously surrounded the site. Head of the facility, Agent Peirce, stood separate from everyone, closest to the site.

Jane gazed up into the dark sky, the stars becoming difficult to see in the strangely bright and slowly swirling clouds. She was reminded strongly of Thor, and of the first time they met in the same spot. She wondered when she'd see him next. It had only been for a brief moment when they last met shortly after the NY attack. He'd come to make sure of her safety and to tell her of the circumstances of his brother and Thor's own fight against his him. He'd then left to go back to NY to help with repairs and morale. Jane hadn't seen him since.

"Okay people!" announced Agent Pierce, the small crowd quieting immediately. "I need all armed agents at the front. Everyone else is to remain in the back. We don't know who or what we're dealing with. There is a high likelihood that they will be extremely dangerous. If there is any indication of aggressive behavior, all non-essential personnel are to retreat into the facility and await further instruction. Headquarters have been notified of the situation."

The clouds began to funnel and everyone fidgeted with the oncoming arrival.

Peirce continued, "Alright, everyone back up. Agents, ready your weapons. No one fire until my say or until it is obvious that the individual is hostile."

Jane busily tapped away on her pad, recording and examining the readings coming through the wormhole. They seemed to be the same as the ones that had first brought Thor to Earth. When Thor had come to see her after returning Loki to Asgard, he'd come via a strange unidentifiable energy and not the Bifrost, and he said that it had not yet been completely repaired since its destruction. Apparently, somebody had fixed it since then.

There was about twenty or so agents loosely surrounding the tattooed circle on the ground. Most of the lab assistants had already retreated back into the base, and few other scientists stood just outside the doors 40 or so feet away. Jane and Darcy were the only 'non-essential' personnel still anywhere near the site.

The wind suddenly and fiercely picked up as a column of cloud, sand, and some unknown blue energy blasted to the ground from the sky. Darcy yelped, jumping and grabbing Jane's arm. Jane tried to keep her eyes on her pad, the data scrolling down her screen rapidly, but the dust was getting in everything, and she had to close her eyes against the debris.

After a minute, the sand-laden wind settled and the air cleared. Jane stood on her tiptoes with Darcy, peering past the shoulders of two aiming agents. In the middle of the circle crouched a single man. His face was hidden from view by longish dark locks, and he was dressed in fashion similar to Thor and the Warriors Three, though his dark leathers were torn in several places.

As the he stood, the agents leveled their weapons at his tall frame and Pierce walked forward to the very edge of the now smoking circle, his own pistol drawn.

"State your origin and intent." Peirce's command was the only sound to be heard as everyone waited in silence.

As the man stood to full height, several things were evident. First, as his face became visible, it was clear he was not going to talk anytime soon as his lips seemed to have been sewn shut, causing Jane to bring her hand to her mouth in reflexive sympathy; secondly, this was not the first time that Peirce or some of the agents had seen the man.

Peirce spoke into his wrist, saying something she couldn't hear, before addressing the man in the middle again. "Hands where we can see them, or I swear to God we'll shoot!"

The lone man simply stood unmoving, though Jane could see his eyes flitting from agent to agent.

Darcy whispered to her side, "Woah. What's up with this guy? He looks a like some dude from a Tim Burton movie."

Jane remained quiet as Peirce repeated his order, "Hands up!"

The man leveled his gaze at the head agent and slowly raised his hands to shoulder level. Jane noticed that on each wrist he wore a metal bracer, both looking like they had once been attached or hooked to something; their design was oddly modern compared to the rest of his clothing.

"Move in" Peirce ordered the agents, waving them in with his pistol.

This guy was obviously some kind of bad news. The agents moved in slowly, their pistols raised, a few of them glancing at each other warily.

Jane got a bad feeling and grabbed Darcy's arm, pulling her back towards the base. "Let's go, Darcy."

"Wait," she replied, "It's just getting good."

"No, Darcy" Jane begged pulling more fiercely, "I don't like this. Let's go."

Just as Darcy was about to refuse, the few agents that we're grabbing the man's arms hit the ground in a flurry of movements. The two women froze as they watched as the stranger now stood amidst the unconscious bodies of four agents, his hands clenched, his breathing slightly fatigued, and his gaze darting between Peirce and the other agents. Peirce held his hand to his ear for a moment, seemingly listening, then he glanced towards the door of the facility, then back to the stranger.

The man noticed this, though, and glanced to the door as well, but his eyes stopped on Jane.

"Oh shit," Darcy muttered, gripping Jane's arm tightly as the man narrowed his eyes in astrophysicist's direction.

"Inside, Darcy." Darcy no longer resisted as Jane pulled her back. The man suddenly began to lash out, using some sort martial arts to disable, disarm, and render unconscious each agent he encountered. Darcy had now taken the lead in the—what was now—run back to the base, a death grip on Jane's hand. Gunshots rose above the din of cries and yells, but the sound of hand to hand combat continued.

Darcy had reached the door and, as she was entering, Jane felt an iron grasp on her arm, and she was jerked back, away from the safety of the facility.

She was spun around, her back pressed against the man's chest, one of his hands pressed severely under her jaw and into her throat, nearly choking her. His other arm was strapped across her middle, trapping her arms to her side. She was now facing the group of agents (who were still conscious), their guns pointed at her.

Her mind was telling her that she needed to keep her head, to keep calm. But the press of the man's oddly cold body against her back, the near choke hold he had restricting any deep, calming breaths she wanted to take, and the guns pointed at her kept her slightly, slightly panicked. Just slightly.

Peirce hesitated, but kept his gun leveled. "Release her."

In response, the stranger shuffled to his right slightly, away from everyone. For some strange reason, Jane wanted to look at him, to see his face—something in her thought if she simply could make eye-contact with him, things would be better. But his restrictive grasp and the fact that he was behind her did not allow that.

"Freeze!" Peirce called, and Jane swore she felt a small laugh rumble in the man's chest. "Do you think using her as a shield, that you're going to get away? Do not think we will hesitate to kill her to get to you. But then again, with those bracelets, what can you do?"

The man's grip tightened painfully, and Jane wished that Peirce would stop talking. But then what the Agent said hit her. They would kill her? Did she mean nothing? Who was this guy that they would kill her to stop him? But she didn't want to die. Not when her research was just getting going. Not when there was a whole universe yet to explore and understand. What about Darcy? Or her mom who lived in Florida? She couldn't die when she hadn't even had a proper date with Thor yet. Not even a real dinner, or like a movie. They hadn't walked down the street holding hands yet, hadn't had their first fight, or talked about their favorite flavors of ice-cream. Had he even had ice cream? Strange, the thoughts that pop into your head when you think you're about to die.

A rifle shot broke the tense silence, and Jane flinched and shut her eyes, waiting to feel pain. But when none came, she opened them again, and saw everyone just as they were before. The grasp under her jaw let go and went somewhere above her head. She heard a small grunt and his hand came down, grasping a small dart. She took this brief moment of mobility, though he still held her around the middle, to look up at him.

"Again. Shoot him again! Take him down! Where's the Phase 2!? Someone get me the Phase 2!"

But Jane didn't really register what Peirce was saying because she was fascinated by the play of emotions going on in the man's face. His breathing had become much more haggard, and his eyes darted feverishly between the agents and Peirce. He was shuffling slowly still to the right, but his face conveyed no confidence. No conviction. The strange thing was that he simply looked tired, dark circles under his eyes. Her gaze fell on his lips, now bloodied with the strain of what looked like average thread, but she doubted that was it. His green eyes were shiny in the flood lights of the base, and his skin was pale against the darkness of his hair and clothing. His jaw was clenched and he grasped the dart tightly in his hand. Who was this man?

Born of a curiosity she never could control, words tumbled past her lips, "What happened to you?"

His head whipped down, his startling green eyes meeting her honey colored ones. Tired and angry. Definitely angry. He looked at her like she was something he'd scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

"I mean, uh. Never mind. Just ignore me."

His eyes roamed her face, like he was looking for something particular. From the corner of her eye, she could see the agents moving in slowly, but so did the man, and he moved more to the right, causing the agents to shuffle to a stop. He narrowed his eyes at her and sneered as best as he could with his lips in their condition. His gaze moved to somewhere over and past her head, back to her, to the agents, then back to her.

Growling, he sent her one last frustrated look, and shoved her at the agents in front of him, darting off somewhere to the right. Jane fell into Peirce, knocking both of them to the ground. She was tossed off to the side as the Agent jumped to his feet and several more rifle shots rattled through the air. Flipping over, she watched the scene unfold.

The stranger was in the middle several agents, looking as though he was about to best them again, but as he turned so he faced away from her, she saw several darts sticking out of his back, and she wondered how he was still on his feet. His movements became slow and clumsy, and he backed away, reaching for the foreign objects lodged in his body. The agents stood back, watching as the man stumbled backwards, his eyes dark and his brows furrowed in anger.

Peirce approached the faltering man, his gun raised. The stranger fell to his knees then, sent one last furious glare at the head Agent, and collapsed.

Jane felt someone's hand on her arm, and in an endorphin filled daze, she looked over to see Darcy kneeling beside her, worry and fright plain on her face.

"Jane! I'm sorry! I almost got you killed! Are you okay?! Shit, that was messed up! Did he hurt you? Jane?" All of this came out in her usual stream of babble that she resorted to when she was in trouble for something.

Jane rubbed underneath her jaw, knowing there was going to be bruises there in the morning, but turned her gaze back to the now unconscious man, who was now on the receiving end of a few angry kicks from Peirce. The agent then ordered for him to be taken inside to 'Bunker B.'

As she watched a couple of agents drag him away, Jane looked back at Darcy.

"Who the hell is that guy?"

* * *

**A/N: **Hey, what do you know, it's all one POV this time. Crazy right? I know, I know, all my Clint fans are wondering where he went! He'll be in the next chapter. I love both Loki and Clint, and am trying to give them both good development and screen time. Don't worry, though. Both are going to be in it to the end!

Loki recognizes Jane from when he sent the Destroyer to Earth in "Thor." Just in case you were wondering.

I don't like exposition... Don't like explaining how people got to where they currently are. I often forget little details, and then people get confused, including myself. That's not what really matters, right? They're there. Deal with it. Besides, if you're wondering how things got to where they were, and other science facts, just repeat to yourself "it's just a fanfic, I should really just relax." :P

Darcy's "we've got one!" and then hitting the button is a reference to Ghostbusters, one of my favorite movies. I might take it out. :P

So, what did you think? How's the story going overall? Are you confused on anything? (And, I'm also working on making my A/Ns shorter. Going well, isn't it? *sigh*)

**Fun Fact! **While we've yet to discover what Loki and Thor's favorite ice cream is, Clint's is Double Chocolate Fudge Brownie (obviously), Natasha's is Mocha with Almonds, Tony's is Coconut, Bruce likes pistachio, and Steve like Vanilla Caramel swirl. *Teehee*


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **I missed you all! Thanks for the reviews, they warm my heart and make me smile.

Our main players in today's chapter are... LOKI and CLINT! YAY! I know, you're excited. I can tell.

But enough of that, let's see what's behind door number one...

* * *

Nick Fury looked out of a two-way mirror at Agent Barton who sat calmly in the adjoining room, neuro-sensors stuck to his head and a heart monitor attached to his finger. Fury had ordered that all agents who had been under Loki's control be given a leave-of-absence until they could be psychologically evaluated and deemed ready to return to active duty. Barton was no exception, and the Director was going to give him a longer break, but recent events in New Mexico moved Barton's sanity up on his priority list.

"Are you ready, Agent Barton?" One of the two testers next to Fury asked into a small microphone that projected into the connecting room, while his research partner regarded a monitor showing Barton's brainwaves, heart rate, and a video of his face which was being monitored from a small camera in the room. They claimed they would be able to tell Barton's emotions based on the readings. Vaguely.

Barton nodded, "Let's get this over with."

The tester leaned forward, speaking into the intercom, "Alright, you're going to see a series of images projected on the screen in front of you."

The first image up was one of Fury himself. Just a general portrait. On the monitor, Fury could see the Agent smirk. "Nice yearbook photo."

Fury huffed a laugh, but the tester didn't find it so funny. "Please refrain from speaking, Agent."

Barton rolled his eyes, but returned to watching the pictures.

After several seconds of looking at Fury's image, the next one up was that of Stark Tower. Barton's face revealed nothing, and the readouts were stable.

The next image was of the destroyed Shield facility where the Tesseract had been held. Barton's brows twitched and his nostrils flared, but other than that, he remained still. One of the several horizontal lines indicating his brain activity jumped slightly, but the science officers didn't seemed disturbed by it.

Next they showed a picture of the spear that Loki had brought with him. Barton pursed his lips, looking slightly disgusted. A good sign, if Fury ever saw one. Again the neural and cardiac readings were apparently nothing to worry about.

As the next picture came on the screen, Fury himself had to school his emotions; the calm but stern face of Phil Coulson was serenely gazing back at them.

Fury knew that Coulson and Barton were close. They'd been a team since Barton had been recruited over ten years ago, shortly being joined by Agent Romanoff. Whenever Barton was injured on a mission, Coulson was the one to bring him back alive. A handler and an agent had to have an implicit trust and knowledge of each other, and Barton and Coulson had been the epitome of that relationship.

Turning his one-eyed gaze to the monitor, Fury watched as the muscle in Barton's jaw ticked, and his eyes become completely still, probably staring at a safe spot such as an ear or the man's tie. Those were places that didn't evoke emotion; Shield training at its finest.

But he couldn't hide biology. The testers next to him nodded as a couple of brainwaves shot up in places. Apparently, nothing was unusual. _Good_.

Typing a few things down, they moved onto the next picture, though it wasn't a picture. It was the security footage showing Barton shooting two security officers outside a research station. The video showed him on the roof of one building shooting down another officer on the roof across from him, and another on the ground. The video repeated itself once Barton walked off screen.

The Agent's eyes were currently narrowed, and his lips twitched. Fury saw his fingers twitch as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

The researchers pointed to a few things on their computer, mumbling things to themselves that Fury couldn't hear, though he thought he caught the words, "Elevated heart rate."

"Anything wrong, gentlemen?" he asked somewhat perturbed. He was glad to see them look uncomfortable at the tone of his voice.

"No, nothing sir. Just conferring with each other on the specifics of the readings. Nothing unusual, though."

"Good, then proceed." He made sure to glare at them both with his one eye. "Maybe next time, you should share with the rest of the class."

"Right, Director Fury." Fury probably shouldn't have gained as much satisfaction as he did from the nervous faces of the researchers.

The last picture projected was a screen-capture of Loki outside the German conference center. He was dressed in elegant clothing, a smug smile on his face.

For a moment, Barton didn't react, but then his brow furrowed, his nostrils flared, and a frown plastered itself on his face.

Agreeing with his expression, Fury glanced over to the scientists but was confused to see them staring at the screen, their lips turned down and pressed in a thin line. One shook his head, and typed something down.

Fury sighed. "Problems?"

One of them half turned, his face still frowning at the monitor, "Yes, sir. Agent Barton's elevated heart rate from the previous image decreased at this new one. It was clear that before, he had been feeling a high amount of negative emotions, but with the image of Loki, the activity in his brain calmed. Though he shows outward aggression, his body says otherwise."

Fury pursed his lips, "Why is Loki, the guy who jumped in his head and made him dance like a monkey, calming my agent down?" He frowned at the two men, making it clear that they had better have just read their results wrong.

The bespectacled man swallowed and rubbed a hand over his mouth, "All of his other readings were normal. Predictable. They were what they should be: grief and anger. But from what we can tell, he's definitely not reacting the way he should for an enemy. It's almost like he's…relieved."

Fury looked back at Barton. His hands were clenched, but his breathing was steady. Could the readouts be right? Barton should definitely be feeling some very bad things for the Asgardian, but instead the supposed-god was acting like more of a blanket—the supposed-god who was currently in a New Mexico base.

An idea began to form in Fury's mind, and he leaned over to speak into the intercom, "Barton. Good work. You passed with flying colors. All that's left is a field test. See how you react to being on the job. It's going to take a few days to set up, but expect a new mission soon."

Barton seemed to relax, and sighed, "Great." He began to rip off the sensors and tear off the heart monitor. "'Bout time."

"You're dismissed, Agent. Expect a call from me in the near future." As Barton left, Fury nodded to the researchers and walked out of the small room. As he made his way down the hall, his mind calculated. Fury needed real proof of Barton's reaction to Loki. Something wasn't right here, and Fury didn't like it. Barton would go to New Mexico and Shield would monitor him. Fury would also be sending a small, covert team after him, watching his every move. If Loki still had any sway over the archer, it would be there that it would be evident. Maybe the shock of seeing the god would be all that it would take. If Barton turned, then Fury would have no decision other than to take the archer out, though it might take more than a simple team of agents to take him down. The archer wasn't a part of the Avengers' Initiative for nothing. If things went south, Fury might have to call in the other heroes to take down one of their own. Until that point came (if it came), he didn't want the Avengers to know about Loki. With Shield, nothing was divulged unless it was absolutely necessary, and the Avengers were no longer officially a part of Shield. Hopefully, if all went to plan, Barton would be furious to see Loki, and glad to see him in Shield custody and subject to Shield's research methods, which weren't too gentle.

Sighing, Fury rubbed his one eye and continued his walk to the rooftop helipad where a helicopter was waiting to take him back to Shield HQ on the Helicarrier.

* * *

In the week and a half or so since Loki had been apprehended, he'd grown to very much dislike the humans that surrounded him. Scientists, they claimed to be.

When he'd woken, he wasn't sure if he was in one of Barton's dreams again because he seemed to be back in his glass cage, though this one was more cube shaped and was adjacent to a few others. Loki supposed it was similar to Asgard's dungeons, but instead of bars there was a highly resistant glass, and instead of stone walls, there was more glass.

Inside his glass cage, there was a small cot and a toilet. Outside, besides the other empty cells, he could see a door against a nearby wall, and he assumed that was the exit. There were no windows to be seen.

But Loki was now accustomed to this room and another, larger room to which he was taken often. In that room, he'd been poked and prodded by these so called 'scientists.' They'd put him in a tube of sorts which made a horrendously loud noise and caused the metal on his wrists to burn his skin, they'd removed what seemed like vast amounts of his blood, shined lights in his eyes, and attached devices to his head. Loki was tired, depleted, hungry, weak, and magicless. To say he was put out would be an understatement.

Every day that they came for him, he would ignore their orders to stand or to walk, until they aimed their weapons at him; he liked frustrating them. For some reason, they'd withheld any petty quests for revenge, though he figured that it would somehow negatively affect their scientific research.

Most days, when he was led to the large testing room, he was strapped to some sort of medical table while they plied their tests, but today he was stood in the middle of the room, the table off to the side, and two guards on either side of him, though slightly distanced. He desired the comfort and protection of his armor. He'd long been divested of most of his clothing, leaving him only his dark trousers.

The door opposite him opened, revealing the man who had first addressed him when he had landed on Midgard. He was of average height, short dark brown hair, thick-rimmed glasses, and the (apparently) standard three piece suit worn by all in the organization known as Shield.

He took a moment to talk in hushed tones with a couple of white-coated researchers before making his way to stand several feet from Loki.

"I trust you've enjoyed your stay, Loki of Asgard? I'm Agent Pierce" The man checked his cufflinks.

Loki sighed and rolled his eyes. _How pathetic_. The agent was trying to put on an air of power. No one here knew what real power was.

The man chuckled and dropped his hands to his sides. "Yes, I've heard you haven't been the most accommodating guest. Well, regardless, our tests have shown us that Asgardians and humans aren't so different. Apparently, there are a couple of genetic and hormonal distinctions, an odd temperature disparity, some neural variations, but other than that, you're much like us." Pierce clasped his hands in front of him, and sent a cold smile at Loki. "Now all of this information is well and good, but the most interesting variance we found was that you seem to have a much more advanced immune system. We've seen this before in some of our own humans, but ethics prevented us from testing their abilities. But Earth's Most Wanted? Well, no one will care if he gets a little beat up in the pursuit of knowledge."

Peirce turned his head and nodded at the scientists. One grabbed a rolling gurney, and the other pulled on rubber gloves. Pierce turned back and nodded at the two guards on either side of Loki, and they backed up slightly, their guns still at the ready. Loki furrowed his brow, and tried to prepare for whatever was going to happen. When Pierce pulled out his pistol and aimed it directly at Loki's chest, his reaction was instantaneous. Lunging to the side, he reached out to grab one of the guards, hoping to use him as a shield, but Pierce fired too soon, and suddenly there was a sharp pain in the lower right part of his abdomen. He couldn't stop the groan of pain, and he reached for the wound. Blood began to leak out, but not a deadly amount as the bullet had only gone in about an inch or so. Loki was about to simply dig his fingers in and remove it, but he was suddenly grabbed and injected with a large dose of some narcotic. As the effects of the drug began to make him drowsy and pliable, he was only dimly aware that he was being strapped to a table. He tried to fight back, but his arms were too heavy, and he was too weak from lack of food and water.

"Look at that," he heard, though it was muffled, "it should've gone all the way through. This is more like a superficial wound. A graze. Collect blood and skin samples from around the wound. We need to monitor the rate of healing every half-hour."

As Loki was being pulled into darkness, he wished to be whole—in body and mind. The last time that had been true had been sometime before Thor's coronation. Thor. Though he was an idiot—a brash, arrogant, ridiculous fool—he had been his one advocate, the person who had fought the longest for him. Loki wished for the brother of his past, when they battled back to back. When Loki would cast an illusion of snakes or some such thing, frightening some person nearby, and Thor would laugh. When Thor, in attempt to bring Loki out of one of his darker moods, would say something kind, and while Loki looked for deception every time, he heard and saw only blunt, ignorant, honesty.

As Loki closed his eyes, succumbing to the drug, something that lived deep in his chest yearned to hear thunder on the air.

* * *

Clint was alone in his room, the clock reading 9:00pm. He sat cross-legged on his bed, rubbing his eyes. "Alright, Clint," he muttered to himself. "Time to take things into your own hands. Quit being a pansy. It's time to fix your own head."

It had come to the point that his nightmares kept him from sleeping. He didn't want to sleep because of what would be waiting for him. Now, though, as he waited for a new mission, he knew that he had to get sleep if he was going to pass his field test. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Back on one of his many missions, he'd been captured and tortured for information. When they'd stop, leaving him alone and strapped in a chair, he had to deal with the pain. Breathing meditation was something that Shield taught all of the operatives, saying it helped to calm and focus the mind. It was supposed to push all other thoughts out in favor of concentrating on your breathing. Clint thought that if it worked back then, possibly it could work to get him to sleep and to simultaneously calm his mind enough to keep the nightmares away.

Taking one deep breath, he counted to eight, focusing only on the feel of air rushing into his lungs. When he couldn't inhale any further he held it for one second, and then released the air for eight more seconds, again thinking only of the feeling of the oxygen leaving him. As he repeated this routine, he could feel his body relaxing, and as his mind began to fall into a meditative state, he thought he heard a strange hum that was somehow familiar. Soon, he concentrated solely on that low hum, and was well and truly meditating.  
….

_Clint opened his eyes and became very confused. He could still hear the hum, though it was more of a background noise, an underlying pulse to wherever he was._

_Looking around, he saw that he was in the most amazingly beautiful place he'd ever seen. He stood on a long walkway seemingly made of a crystal or geode that flashed different colors when you walked. Below the bridge was an enormous, shining sea which continued onto the horizon where an orange sun was setting. Turning, Clint's eyes grew wide as he took in a strange and magnificent city of gold and marble and other material he couldn't place. The air was warm and fresh, and there was a slight breeze._

_Hearing footsteps behind him, he turned and was surprised to see two familiar figures walking towards him. One was Thor, dressed in his armor, his red cape wafting gently behind him. He was smiling and talking amicably with the man next to him, his arm around his shoulders companionably. Loki wore his armor too, the green of his cape standing out brightly against all the warm colors around. He smiled genuinely, and Clint almost choked when a small, sincere laugh escaped from him at something Thor had said._

_When they'd finally reached the gaping Clint, Thor turned his gaze from his brother and smiled._

_"Barton!" he bellowed, releasing Loki and clasping the archer on the shoulder, "It is good to see you, my friend. Come to welcome us back from our battle?"_

_Clint frowned in confusion. Home? Then his eyes grew wide with understanding. Was this Asgard? "Uh, yeah. Sure."_

_"Well, we must tell you that we were victorious then!" Thor laughed and looked back to Loki, who simply stood there with a small smile, though one hand was pressed against the lower right side of his stomach._

_"Victory is never without a price, dear brother," Loki said._

_Thor clapped him on the back, "That is nothing but a flesh wound! Why do you not heal it with you magic?"_

_At this, Loki's brow furrowed, like he didn't even know why, "My…my magic must be drained from battle. I will see the healers."_

_By this point Clint assumed he was dreaming, but he'd never entered a dream so lucidly before. Loki, though, seemed caught up in what was happening, not aware of the real circumstances. But was this a dream-Loki or real Loki?_

_"I'm confused here. I thought you" he pointed at Loki "we're supposed to be on trial or something. Like getting judged. That's what you said last time. What's all of this?" He motioned around him._

_Loki looked confused, and Thor looked offended, "My brother? A Prince of Asgard on trial? Barton, do not insult my kin. We have just got back from a battle in Helheim. It was astounding. The warriors three, and my brother and I took down many foes."_

_But Loki still looked confused, staring at Clint. The Trickster glanced over to the smiling Thor, back to Clint, then down at his hand, which was covered in blood. His eyes clenched shut for a moment, and everything changed. Thor disappeared, the city behind blinked out of existence and the sky over him turned dark. Before him, Loki was now clutching his head, his eyes shut, and most of his armor gone. Now he stood there, bare-chested, the wound on his stomach red and gleaming. The two of them stood on an endless crystal bridge surrounded by nothing but stars and nebulas. Loki collapsed to the ground, sitting with his legs before him, and his body hunched over._

_"Huh," Clint was thoroughly lost. "What just happened?"_

_A small huff of a laugh came from Loki, then the air around them resounded with his voice, "Nothing I haven't done to you, Barton. Though it seems you are better at handling the truth better than myself."_

_"The truth?"_

_"I did not think you capable of such a feat as this."_

_"As what?" Clint was getting frustrated at the god's lack of explanation._

_"You are meditating, yes?" Loki sounded tired, and Clint tried to get a good look at his face but it was lowered and hidden by his hair._

_He _had_ been meditating, but he assumed that he drifted off to sleep. "How did you kn—"_

_"This is my dream, you fool," he interrupted, his face lifting to glare at Barton, "Do try and use your brain for once."_

_Instead of cussing the god out, Clint stared at him. Now he understood why Loki's voice seemed to come from everywhere but his mouth. "Shit… was that your punishment?"_

_Loki frowned, but then realized at what the Archer was staring at. "This?" he lightly touched his bleeding lips, "This is one lie too many, I suppose. And it was only part of my sentence."_

_Barton was about to ask more, but Loki stopped him with a gasp as he grasped his side. "What are the fools doing?"_

_"What are you talking about?" asked Clint._

_But the god's eyes clenched in pain again, and he doubled over. Suddenly the bridge beneath them broke, the crystal-like stone shattering like glass shards._  
…

Clint's eyes snapped open, and he found himself still sitting on his bed, his legs still crossed and the clock reading 9:30pm. He felt extremely tired, and collapsed back onto his pillow as he rubbed his eyes.

Where were the sleeping pills?

* * *

**A/N: **So, I think I like this chapter. Finally got another dream in there.

I figure, two dreamers can't really communicate with each other. One has to be conscious in a way. A meditating person can go into their own mind enough to be in a dream like state, but still be aware. The scepter acts as a conduit between Loki and Clint. So I guess the equation would be: Scepter + previous mind connection + Meditating + Dreaming= Connection! Does that make sense? Whatever.

Finally got Fury in too.

Struggled with exactly the biology of an Asgardian (though, Loki is Frost Giant, it seems that in his Asgardian form he has similar qualities. And some different. Shield doesn't know yet though. Oy, whatever). I tried to make it congruous with the movies. Obviously Asgardians are tough (withstanding bullets and surviving smashes and long falls and whatnot), but they still get bruised and cut up by fighting on Earth. So there was some give and take here.

Also, as for the history of Loki and Norse mythology, I'm only going to make homages to it. For example, in mythology, there is a story of Loki's lips being sewn shut, so I kind of took that and made it my own-ish. So unless I state something happened, don't readily assume anything.

Tell me what you think. Like it? Hate it? Confused? I enjoy reviews of all sorts. Not that me telling you this is going to persuade you one way or another into reviewing. But I love you anyways.

**Important Note: **Roleplaying on Twitter has taken over my life...distracting me from updating. You can follow my Darcy on Twitter at Darcy_Lewis_ Follow many versions of the Avengers and Loki too! It's tons of fun! Forgive me my lack of updating. I haven't given up on this story though.

**Fun Fact: **Loki likes apples and cucumbers. They're light and refreshing. Do you have an apple for poor Loki? (I seem to be stuck on food for these fun facts.)


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N** Uh oh...

Sorry guys. Sorry. SORRY. SOOOORRRYYYY. Man, I did not plan on making you guys wait so long. I really didn't. Depression is weird. I'm generally a happy person, but blahhh.

Anywho. At least I _am_ updating, huh? I hope the updates to be more frequent from now on. This isn't long. But it's something. It'll get me back into the rhythm of things. And it shows that I still believe in Sherlock Ho... I mean this story.

Um, no warnings, I don't think.

I hope this is okay. I love you guys for sticking with me, and for giving such lovely feedback. It really helped me come back to this story.

* * *

The inner walls of the SHIELD facility in New Mexico were blindingly white. So were the floors actually. And the ceiling. Clint almost had to squint his eyes it was so bright. As he was led down the halls, he wondered at what exactly this field test was. He'd only arrived there the day prior, and he'd done nothing other than say "Sir" a lot.

"How's New York, Agent Barton?" Agent Brian Pierce's voice broke Clint from his thoughts. Pencil pusher. Desk jokey. Kind of a dick. Clint didn't really like the guy, but he ranked above him in SHIELD somehow. Though Barton was absolutely positive he could kick Pierce's ass any day.

"It's fine, sir. Repairs are still underway, but they're steady."

"That Asgardian was a real pain in our asses, wasn't he?" Pierce sent Clint a side glance as they continued to walk.

Clint nodded, "Yes sir. Good thing we took care of him." Emotionless. Show nothing. Clint was good at that when he needed to be. The two men stopped outside a door, Pierce tapping in a code on a side panel.

"Yes, about that..."

As the doors slid open with a slight hiss, Barton's eyes traveled the room filled with glass containment cells until his eyes landed on a familiar form.

And unconscious Loki lay strapped to a bed, and looked much like he did when Clint saw him in the god's dream only a few nights before, only now Loki looked even paler, if that were possible. His cheeks were gaunter, his breathing was stilted, and the red wound on his side was red and swollen, small red veins spreading outwards on his abdomen. Infected. Greasy, black hair was matted on his pillow, and his brow was covered in sweat. The black thread was still taut in his lips.

All of this information, Clint processed in seconds. Inwards, he felt a pang of sympathy for the god, which alone took him off guard. Sympathy for Loki. Weird. But, outwardly he remained blank, his eyes locked on the god. He only had seconds to form the correct emotion. As soon as he'd seen Loki, he knew that this was his test. Well, one thing he didn't have to lie about was his confusion.

"What the hell is this asshole doing here?!" Clint growled for effect.

Pierce had a small, smug smile on his face as he spoke. "Interesting, isn't it? He just showed up one night near a month ago. Took out several of my men. Threatened Dr. Foster. But..." he gazed at the god of mischief, his eyes almost glowing with glee "..he has given us valuable information. Information that will assist us if further Asgardians, or other alien races like them, attack Earth again."

Clint knew SHIELD wasn't the cleanest organization out there. He knew that they sometimes resorted to torture, but this? Then again, they didn't know what Clint knew now. Of Loki's control, or lack thereof, during the attack.

_Keep up the act, Clint. If they see you act weak, you fail. _ And he could _not_ afford to fail.

The archer pointed a finger at Loki and turned towards Pierce "That guy should be locked the fuck away, or dead!"

Pierce turned his gaze back on Barton, an eyebrow raised. "He is here. Under our supervision. Is that not enough, Agent?"

"Hell no. I don't want him anywhere on our planet.. sir."

The bespectacled agent straightened and clasped his hands behind his back. "Well, since we do not yet know how to operate the Einstein-Rosen bridge, or 'Bifrost' as it has been called, then there is no way we can send him back, now is there?"

Clint glowered, straightening his own posture and clenching his jaw. "No sir."

"So he might as well serve a purpose and be dealt a bit of his punishment while we have him. Doesn't that sound reasonable to you, Agent Barton?" Pierce's voice was getting annoyingly condescending, and Clint's anger was now becoming less acted and more real.

"Yes, sir"

A pause. Pierce's gaze on the archer was unnerving. Or frustrating. Or both. "Good man. Then you will stay here for some while. Those are orders from above."

Clint held back his shock. He was supposed to be in New York! His teammates were there... Nat was there. "May I ask why, Sir?"

Pierce stared back at the archer, his expression hard. "Orders are orders Agent. You will help guard the hostile until it is deemed acceptable that you return to your outpost in New York. Is that clear?"

Oh, how he wanted to deck Pierce. "Yes sir."

The SHIELD agent gave a small twitch of the lips, then clapped him on the back. "Good. Now, let's leave this _thing_, and find some lunch. I hear they're serving tacos in the cafeteria today."

The archer was silent as he was led out of the room, not casting a backwards glance at Loki. His mind was a whirl of emotions and plans. What was going on? What the hell was he supposed to do? and What was going to happen to Loki?

The god looked horrible, and Clint couldn't stop the tugging in his chest for Loki. Damn. Shit. Fuck. He shouldn't like Loki. He shouldn't want to help the murderer. But he did. Things had changed. Things were different.

What was Clint going to do? Would he do anything at all?

...

Everything hurt.

Everything.

Loki was nauseous, his brain rebelled against the bony cage of his skull, his stomach long ached for food and nourishment, and the wound on his side was excruciating. What was wrong with it? The mortals had continued to reopen it once it had nearly healed, prodding it until it was red and bleeding once more. Now it was swollen and painful. He'd never had this happen before. Asgardians (and apparently Frost Giants) healed quickly, a prolonged wound being a rare occurrence.

He hadn't meditated since he came to Midgard, and he certainly wasn't going to be able now, as much as he'd like to. Meditation often brought him peace, and gave him a place to escape to. Now all he had for an escape was his periods of sleep, or unconsciousness. He never saw the outside-there were no windows in this base that he could tell-so night and day were one color of white, and it disoriented his perception of time.

Opening his eyes, Loki attempted to sit up, but his wrists and ankles were strapped to the bed he was on. The effort he'd put into simply raising his head fatigued him much more than it should have. It shouldn't have bothered him at all! He was weak, and he hated it. No magic, no strength, not even allowed to heal, a natural bodily occurrence.

His brows furrowed as a thought occurred to him.

Death.

Asgardians lived immortal lives. They could die in battle, but... It was either a quick death or no death at all for those of Asgard.

Death.

Oh, Loki's cruelly sewn lips twisted up at the corners. Perhaps death would be the sweetest of choices.

How long would he have to wait? Would it be like the Void? He hoped not. Would he go to Valhalla? He doubted that. What would happen to him? Perhaps nothing at all.

"Loki..."

Oh. He'd fallen asleep. How lovely. And either he was dreaming of Barton, or Barton had once again somehow managed to focus his mortal mind enough to enter his dreams.

Odd though. He was still in his bed. Usually, his dreams were of either far worse days, or far better. He still felt the pain of his body, and he still felt awake...

"Loki, dammit, wake up"

Loki furrowed his brow and tilted his head to the side enough so he could see out the glass wall of his cage.

Barton stood there in his SHIELD uniform, looking like the day he'd first told the boy that somewhere in his chest, he had heart.

Loki attempted to speak, using his mind as per usual, but his lips tugged at string, and nothing was heard.

This was no dream.

The archer gave a weak smile and scrubbed at the back of his head. "Hey Sand man."

* * *

**A/N: **So there you have it. Sorry again for the obscenely long time it took to update. I was in a rut. Like a depressed rut. And... Twitter RP. I now have several accounts, and it's just like Fanfiction, only I don't have to think as hard! .

Anywho, I hope this was okay. Not great, but a start to getting me to updating again. Clint and Loki have finally met up! Le Gasp!

And no, this is not a romance. These two will not be falling in love. Friends, probably. No smoochy smoochy kiss kiss.

And I've seemed to lost track of time passage in this fic. Anybody want to tell me how much time has passed since the NY attack from the Avengers? I think it's like.. a few months? Oy...

Fun Fact: Loki loves music. What kind? Wait and find out on the next episode of Dragon B... Oh wait..


End file.
